A struggle.

"Testament of Tears" was written based on a constant battle I think every Christian is fighting: thinking they are inherently good. You see, lately, I have been feeling like such hypocrite. I will quickly move to read a new theology book, to read my Bible, to analyse, to research, to pray, to think deeply. And yet within the very fabric of my life - my life's narrative - I am consistently succumbing to my heart's desire to sin.

I am not alone, but I refuse to feel comfortable in the commonality of such struggles.

I have turned to people in tears, literally quaking, shaking with anguish over sin. Good advice is given 95% of the time. But in that leftover 5%, I am left bitterly torn, stressed, anxious, and very quickly frustrated. What composes the 5%? "You are so great, Aynsley"

There is no doubt you have heard it too. You see, they want to help. They want to lift your spirits. But with no basis presented for goodness at all, with no evidence from your mouth for any light whatsoever, they touch on the very issue you struggle with. You have condemned your sin, felt overwhelmed in shame, burdened with guilt, and they present your goodness.

Now the balancing act can be a good appeal. It can help a person feel uplifted. But as a Christian, I would rather someone appeal to God's goodness, rather than my own. To show me that my goodness, holiness and righteousness comes in the very name of Jesus, with who I am hidden with faith in his death and resurrection. I would rather see Jesus, but all to often, they appeal to my goodness. And in that moment, no two words could feel more ironic.

Indeed, "Testament of Tears" becomes hyperbole in many sections. No Christian brother or sister in Christ has truly exalted me to the level that I have ascended the ground others walk on. But I wanted it to show how my actions are glorified rather than Christ. How my actions are deemed perfect, when I know in my heart they are not.

Every person wants to be thanked, but I do not want to be glorified. That is God's prerogative.

In my life, as a pastor's kid, as a natural born people-pleaser, as a goody-two-shoes, as a teacher's pet, and over-achiever, I feel I have fallen to pride, though I would hardly dare to boast of achievement. But I expect praise so easily. It is how I justify what I do. It has been a flaw I have lamented over. It is a flaw that has challenged me, made me anxious, caused me to trust in myself more than the Lord.

But over the years, as I earnestly desire God, and as the Holy Spirit convicts me of my sin, I cannot and will not feel perfect joy over the praise of people. Because I know I do not deserve it. Because I recall too many nights lamenting to my parents - who always offer good advice - over the depth of my sin. Because I am not content with myself.

And everyday, I pray that I will only be content with Jesus. And that as people see me, they will not look to my erroneously perceived "goodness", but the light of Christ in me. I am filled with so much more joy, if people see me serving in Church or reading my Bible, or praying with a friend and say "Jesus, thank you for working in the lives of believers. Thank you for your saving grace which has allowed this one sinner to be accepted into your kingdom".

If people are able to praise God instead of me, my work on earth will have felt meaningful.

And the testament of my tears would not have been in vain.