One of my favorite stanzas of poetry that I've ever written was:
Know me for my sins,Weaken and break me.Call me out for my faults,Remind me that I'm so small.
I love admitting that I'm wrong. Of course, I don't love the process of it--being called out, apologizing, having your deepest inner decay exposed. Oh, does that hurt. But when I hurt, when my pride stings and my intellect aches, may I ever and always praise God that I'm not numb, that there is enough of the God-intended Elena left for Him to put me back in order.
I discovered a new favorite verse in Psalm 138 the other day. I like the ESV translation and The Message paraphrase of it a lot, so here's both:
"The Lord will fulfill His purpose for me; your steadfast love, O Lord, endures forever. Do not forsake the work of your hands."
"Finish what you started in me, oh, God. Your love is eternal--don't quit on me now."
I recently defined hope as: "remembering that He will continue His work of redemption in my life even though I fail so often." Acknowledging my failure is a sharp and biting pain. There's no spiritual anesthesia for us in these moments. But if this didn't hurt, it wouldn't be so beneficial. So I welcome the hurt. I love apologies and confessions to true friends who show love and grace and rebuke in return. What powerful, potent medicine and what healing and growth it brings.