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First of all, it seems there’s a difference depending on the environment we grew up in and the depth of our acceptance. Each person has their own life journey, wounds, and pains, and it feels like some people hear and feel the words of truth in similar ways, while others, even hearing the same truth, produce different shapes and colors. I, too, am no exception. There seems to be a difference between hearing it with my head and thoughts versus truly hearing and accepting it deep in my heart. As I read, I compared it to what I wrote, and it made me feel ashamed and embarrassed.
Despite over ten years of being taught the words of truth, what I wrote felt so inadequate and trivial, expressing so little. Seeing others who felt similarly gave me a sense of shared understanding, but reading the hearts of those who felt it amidst great pain and wounds brought tears to my eyes. Seeing how the words of truth touched them in their struggles, I realized that the results we come to know and gain through the truth the teacher has conveyed—though I can’t fully grasp or understand them—are like individual gifts growing in our hearts, something the world could never show or tell us.
Honestly, it feels more like a confession of repentance. I’m ashamed of what my hands wrote and I feel I need to reflect more deeply on what I’ve actually learned. I feel ashamed and sorry before God and Teacher. Still, more than anyone, I was someone led by thoughts, trapped, unable to see or hear anything—like a madman living an abnormal life, a sinner with no choice but death—yet God led me into the truth through the true shepherd. Though I can’t fully comprehend it, teacher shown this sinner, who didn’t know warm love, how great God’s love is and how shameful a sinner I am. Thinking of the past fills me with gratitude, and though I still have a long way to go, I want to engrave the words of truth in my heart and draw closer to God.
Among those who wrote, some shared similar experiences, and I wondered what causes these individual differences in seeing and hearing the truth. I thought, “The teacher must know,” and seeing the pain and wounds of those who’ve suffered more made me feel my own pain and wounds were nothing—mere luxury. Watching the hearts and fruits gained in that process, I realized that what we accept in the truth becomes a gift, a treasure, a truly precious grace. I felt grateful yet envious seeing those who’ve become so through this. Seeing some still striving to move forward for themselves despite being in the process of learning made me feel the same, inspiring me to push harder, reflect on myself through the words of truth, and make this a meaningful time.
Through you, Teacher, I recalled my past shame and reflected on how ashamed I am before God. Seeing others’ states of heart made me realize, “This is all I amount to,” helping me look at myself more deeply. Above all, reading the writings of those who’ve received grace showed me why their depth and breadth of acceptance differ so vastly from my own pitiful self—too great a gap to even compare. It made me so ashamed, increased my longing for grace, and drove me to pray more earnestly to God, hoping we all might receive grace and become God’s perfect, beautiful children and fruits. This was a precious time of earnest longing.
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