October 27th, 2026
“Oh, what joy for those whose disobedience is forgiven, whose sins are put out of sight. Yes, what joy for those whose record the Lord has cleared of sin.” (Psalm 32:1-2)
“Grace is not opposed to effort, it is opposed to earning. Earning is an attitude. Effort is an action” (Dallas Willard; The Great Omission: Reclaiming Jesus’s Essential Teachings on Discipleship)
It was a lovely fall afternoon. Sun shining, a light breeze, the colours radiating their full autumn lustre in the gleaming light. I pulled my bike from the garage and set out for a short ride — taking advantage of a shrinking list of days left to spend on two wheels.
I followed a familiar route. It's always a little busier getting clear of the residential streets and intersections, but the five or ten minutes of urban navigation is worth it for the trails and quieter roads that follow. I pulled up to a set of lights and, conscious of drivers wanting to turn right, moved myself deliberately out of the right turn lane, straddling my frame and waiting for the light.
I heard a honk. Then a second one — longer, more insistent this time. I turned. Behind me, a pickup truck, window rolled down, the driver hollering at me to move. I could see his lane was clear to turn right and told him so. He leaned further out the window and said something that raised my ire.
In a second I was hot.
I lashed back with words I'd rather not repeat here, which only served to escalate things further. By the time the light turned, neither of us was moving. Horns honked. Other drivers yelled. We yelled. Tempers flared across an entire intersection brought to a standstill by two grown men in a standoff neither of us needed to be in.
Eventually, with what felt at the time like complete justification, I saddled up and pedalled through. Livid but wholly satisfied with myself.
Within five pedal strokes though, the haze cleared and my eyes opened. It was like waking from a bad dream. A shroud of shame settled over me almost immediately. Who was that person? Less than ten minutes earlier, peace, joy and gratitude had been bubbling around me. Now, rage, shame and remorse were swirling a sick cocktail in my head and chest. I turned for home on a shortened route.
Over the weeks since, the scene has replayed in my mind repeatedly. I've shared it with those closest to me — speaking almost as if recounting someone else's newsreel, slightly detached from the experience — and yet ultimately arriving at what I can only describe as yet another example of God's abundant grace.
I know I might lose some of you in saying that. But I can't find a path to feeling whole without it.
As an adult man living into his seventh decade, shouldn't I have this sorted by now? Shouldn't an encounter like this be easily sidestepped with the benefit of age and accumulated wisdom? With just pure will power??
Apparently not.
C.S. Lewis observed in Mere Christianity: "No man knows how bad he is till he has tried very hard to be good. A silly idea is current that good people do not know what temptation means. This is an obvious lie. Only those who try to resist it know how strong it is."
And Paul, in his letter to the believers in Rome, names it even more directly:
"I have discovered this principle of life — that when I want to do what is right, I inevitably do what is wrong. I love God's law with all my heart. But there is another power within me that is at war with my mind. This power makes me a slave to the sin that is still within me. Oh, what a miserable person I am! Who will free me from this life that is dominated by sin and death? Thank God! The answer is Jesus Christ our Lord."
— Romans 7:21-25
What Paul is describing is not an excuse for bad behaviour. It is a lifeline — a frank acknowledgment that we are essentially at war with ourselves, and that the role of Christ in our lives is not decorative but necessary. My efforts, despite the best of intentions, will still lead me to terrible moments. The question is not whether I live there — dwelling in the guilt of what I've done. Paul says no. The answer is the grace that makes it right. The recognition that God knows we are forever works in progress.
There is an old adage — we need cracks in these clay pots of ours in order to let the light in. I may have that a bit wrong but hopefully the point is clear. Recognition of our shortfall is necessary. Dwelling in it — not at all. Put another way: conviction is good. Condemnation is not. Freedom becomes available to all of us the moment we embrace that distinction. Grace is offered at no cost and if received, it illuminates, heals and renews, revealing a light that would otherwise be concealed, through cracks and all.
So how does this leave me feeling?
Truthfully — I'm hoping I run into that man in the pickup truck again. And if I do, I'll apologize. I'll let him know I'm sorry for my part in it and that I hope he sees the encounter differently as a result.
That's the plan anyway.