I heard the preachers and teachers. I read the words, “We are vessels for God to fill.” I yearned for this filling, but I thought I had to perform, dot my i’s, and cross my t’s, do the hard work of preparing the way. When would I ever get ready for such an awesome thing? I put demands on myself that grew harsher, inadvertently casting my lot with my enemy. “Why can’t you?” “When will you ever?” My way was hopeless.
I stared at the uneven dirt walls of a hole I’d dug. They had become my normal. If I tried to be filled by God, I would just fail again. I had proven that all my performances and yearnings eventually petered out. Dreams never lifted beyond what had become my living grave. I’d thought that all my attempts to serve God and please others would bring some reward, that they were selfless acts. But I’d merely been working for my salvation, and my works mocked the Savior’s finished work, marring His perfect blood sacrifice.
It was in that realization that I looked up and saw Light at the top of the hole. Two strong arms reached down into my living grave, pulled me up and out, and set me on a stone. In the Light, my clothing was but filthy rags with labels—work harder, try one more time, please people, and be pious. None of it was worthy of God. I cried at the immense mess and emptiness of what I had done.
Then his arms embraced me, his hand wiped my tears. My remnant clothes vanished. He’d wrapped me in His presence, and I now stood in spotless robes. The living grave was swallowed up; I needn’t ever go to it again. Why would I? His hand reached under my chin and lifted my head to look into the great blue expanse – vast, shining, and filled with music. We went forward, His hand in mine.