I’ve wondered at times if something might be a little off in me. Many people talk about struggling with guilt, yet I don’t often experience it the same way. Sometimes that has made me pause and ask why.
When I look back over my life, a few memories come to mind.
In the picture above, I’m posing calmly while my cousin and sister are trying to manage my little brother. I remember not feeling any urge to step in. I didn’t feel guilty about it then. I’m not sure whether that was immaturity, obliviousness, or simply being caught up in the moment.
As a teenager, I admired my best friend Nancy, who asked thoughtful questions about the Bible. I couldn’t think of questions like she did. I didn’t feel guilty about that—I mostly just assumed she was wired differently. Perhaps I should have been more curious.
In college, my grades were mostly B’s and C’s (with a few A’s in P.E.!). I didn’t lose sleep over it. Looking back, maybe I lacked ambition, or maybe I was simply content with “good enough.”
As a young mother, other women shared how guilty they felt about their parenting. I didn’t feel guilt so much as fear. I knew I was in over my head. When my daughter was two, I cried out to the Lord for help, and He graciously answered through a moms’ group at church. I didn’t figure it out on my own—I was carried along.
Recently I listened to a podcast by Andy Lewis, a pastor in South Carolina, who spoke about feeling guilty that he didn’t pray enough. I’ve read about George Müller praying four hours a day. I can’t say I’ve ever done that. I didn’t feel guilty—but I did feel aware of my limits. Years ago, when my son was in junior high, God kindly led me to a Moms in Prayer group. For an hour each week, I prayed with other mothers. It wasn’t dramatic or heroic. It was simply faithful.
I don’t feel guilty that I need a lot of sleep. I don’t have the energy to “bring home the bacon and fry it up in a pan.” If someone wrote a book about me, it might be called, “It’s Good Enough.” And even that title makes me smile a little sheepishly.
Sometimes I wonder if what looks like a lack of guilt is simply a lack of perfectionism. I’ve never expected everything—or everyone—to be flawless. Houses wrinkle. Churches have problems. Meals don’t turn out quite right. Weddings and parties have hiccups. I suppose I’ve learned to enjoy things as they are, rather than mourn what they are not.
That doesn’t mean I never miss the mark. Just the other day in water aerobics, while chatting with two women, another lady let us know she couldn’t hear the instructor because of us. That stung. I did feel guilty then—and rightly so.
More than anything, I think the reason guilt doesn’t settle on me for long is this: I believe there is no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus. Our pastor preached from Colossians 2:8–15 last Sunday and ended with the words, “Know your position.” In Christ, we are forgiven. We are clean. We are His.
Perhaps that has steadied me more than I realized.
I picture Jesus unconcerned about a wrinkled tablecloth. I imagine He would sit gladly at a table set with paper plates instead of china. He said, “Only one thing is needed.” I am grateful that what He asks of me is not perfection—but presence.
“Amazing love, how can it be that Thou, my God, shouldst die for me?”
—Charles Wesley
