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First of all, my writing itself felt overwhelmingly shameful compared to the writings of other family members. I said I was learning the truth, but it felt like I was learning it with my head rather than deeply engaging with it. Being in the light and within grace, I had become complacent and far too lazy. Like water drying up from lack of supply, I’ve become parched, like cracked, drought-stricken land. Yet, I somehow carried an arrogance and pride, thinking I was slightly better than others. It feels as though my current state of mind has been laid bare before me like a mirror. To think that I claimed to follow the words of truth with such a heart—comparing my past and present, I lack the desperation I once had, and my condition is utterly pitiful. It’s not because of my own merit that I’m here; it’s because I’ve been led and held up that I’ve managed to hang on without breaking. Even if my tongues disappeared in this state, I’d have no excuse. I knew that even keeping those tongues was a great grace, but this time, I felt it more painfully, and I’m deeply ashamed. It seems I momentarily forgot that I exist because of that grace.
While learning the truth, I’ve taken it lightly, listening with one ear and letting it slip out the other. I’ve filled the vessel meant to hold it with vain things, relying more on my own assertions and thoughts than on the truth. I think I’ve been holding myself in too high regard. When rebuked or instructed, I thought I was accepting it humbly, but I see now how lacking in humility I was—how arrogantly and pridefully I’ve been believing in the truth. This has shown me once again just how crucial grace is. I said with my mouth that the grace is like my life itself and that I longed for that grace(the gift of God), but it seems it was just words. If it weren’t, I would have somehow, by any means, prayed. My inability to do so is just an excuse—proof that I lack both desperation and earnestness. It doesn’t even feel like faith; it’s not even worthy of being called faith in words alone. I knew it in my head, but when the lid was lifted, I found a heart and faith so pitiful that I’m too ashamed to even call it faith. I’ve come to desperately realize that I exist by grace. I haven’t deeply confronted my heart or my habits of sin. Even if I moved forward with desperation and earnestness, it would still fall short, yet I wasn’t even making an effort—just hoping for grace. This has shown me how much more I rely on and trust myself over the words of truth, and it’s revealed my deficiencies even more clearly. I’m thankful on one hand for it being laid out so plainly, but on the other hand, it’s jolted me awake. The words, “The first shall be last, and the last shall be first,” strike me with fear as something directed at me. I thought I knew the preciousness and longing for the truth, but in reality, I’ve been treating it far too carelessly.
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