The Problem of Forgiveness

Grace makes my skin crawl. It rubs against my rugged individualism, refusing to be bought or traded for, but instead insisting on being freely given. Any attempt to earn it, keep it, control it, and it withdraws, leaving me with a need for more. A second grader having his boots laced up by his teacher in front of the whole class knows what I mean. The pain of being rejected, scorned for my own actions almost seems preferable. At least I've earned my lot, and I still have my pride. Grace defeats my sense of control, I am no longer a self-made man. I am a man in debt to grace. Where does a man go whose only explaination is "what I want to do, I don't do, and what I do, I don't want to do"? What claim to fame, what boast or award can he lay hold of? He falls on grace. I fall on grace.