I pause hesitantly in front of the side entrance, my hand holding the door frame for support. For what seems like hours, I just stood there, thinking whether I should go in at all. But then I remembered why I came here, and I pushed myself inside, sitting by the corner of the dimly-lit room.
Dominating the front of the room, almost completely hidden by shadow, is a large wooden cross. I gazed at it only for a moment before looking down. I feel both lucky and dreadful to be here Ė I know the security guard of this church personally, so I was allowed to go in for a few minutes despite the church being closed. But now that Iím here, somehow I could not bear to look at the cross.
I began to pray. As I did so, a tidal wave of emotions swept over me, and I could not help my remorse. I confessed the grievous sin I have committed, and I poured out all my heart to Jesus, in the end renewing my relationship with Him. I could not remember feeling so joyful, and I went home riding a cloud.
I closed my window and locked the door. I breathed a deep sigh and closed the lights of my bedroom. Then I knelt down on the floor to pray. It has only been three days, and yet I find myself caught in the same sin, the same one which I have prayed about in the church. Only this time, I felt I should not trouble my friend the security guard anymore, so I decided to stay home.
I prayed again, using roughly the same words and trying to evoke the same remorse I felt the last time. However, I felt a little voice while I was praying, and it terrified me. It accuses me of my sin, and how pointless it was to keep praying for forgiveness. And whatís more, it made me feel a little callous inside, and I couldnít really feel the same connection like I did before.
Nevertheless I still prayed, but this time I didnít feel as joyful, and I slept a restless sleep.
I did it again. Without compunction I have done the same sin twice today. And worse, I didnít feel remorseful about it anymore. Iím a nice guy in general, and I felt the other guy deserved it. But as a Christian, I know I should pray and confess it.
But thatís just it. I simply know it without feeling like doing it. I donít care. I know Iím right. The Lord knows Iím right. A great wrong was done to me, so I itís just right that I ďreturnĒ the favor. I will not be sorry today. No sir.
I sit alone inside the church once more. I feel so hypocritical I could almost laugh. I mean, what am I doing here praying again, for the same little thing, over and over and over?
But somehow I could not rest easy. Something inside me is driving me to be here. To pray again, despite all the accusations, despite all the contradictions, and despite all the repetitions I did.
And despite having little to no remorse left at the moment, I still find myself kneeling down, intoning the same words and the same prayers.
Will God hear me despite my callous mindset? In my mind, a loud voice is rejecting the idea and screaming some obscenities at me. But I donít understand it, really Ė another voice deep inside me is telling me otherwise. That God does hear all my prayers despite the hypocrisy I feel. Is that the Holy Spirit? Maybe. Maybe not. I donít feel so spiritual to discern between the two at the moment.
But I do know that this other voice inside my being is stronger. And that following it is the best thing I can do right now.
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