I was working in my office, which also happens to be my master bedroom, nursery, and a general revolving door for tiny feet and loud feelings. Our toddler was potty training, the older boys were in full gladiator mode, my wife was tied up feeding our baby, and contractors were drilling away outside.

I couldn’t string 10 minutes together.

Deadlines loomed. I was behind. Paperwork everywhere. I hoped a Zoom meeting with my accountant would at least give me one uninterrupted hour, an illusion of productivity.

Nope.

Three times during the meeting, the kids burst in, yelling and climbing all over the furniture. On the final intrusion, I lost it. Snapped. I stormed out of my chair, loudly scolded the kids, scooped them up like little suitcases, and set them outside the door, slamming it shut behind me.

It was only after collecting myself and sitting back down that I noticed the mute button on Zoom.

I hadn’t pressed it.

Now more embarrassed than angry, I sheepishly apologized to my accountant and wrapped up the meeting as quickly as possible. 

After, I just sat there. Head in my hands.

The silence that I so desperately wanted earlier was now testifying to my mistakes.

Frustrated and ashamed, I found myself caught in an all-too-familiar tug-of-war: trying to be a good business partner, a faithful provider, a present dad, a decent Christian and more.

I felt like a failure in all categories.

That’s when I heard the thought:

“Read Romans 4.”

I’d love to say I jumped right into reading after that.

The truth? I wasn’t in the mood. I rolled my eyes. And sat in my funk.

After a few minutes I begrudgingly pulled up my Bible app. Scrolled and landed on this:

“You’re not under the law! Stop acting like it!” was what I heard next. 

That’s when the lightbulb switched on in my head.

Of course I was angry.
Of course I was overwhelmed.
Of course I snapped. 

I was carrying the full weight of “the law.”
Not just God’s law, but the unspoken laws we all live by:

All of them served as the measuring stick for everything I did.

The problem? Failing these laws demands judgment. And judgment always leads to wrath.

I gave my kids wrath because they were interfering with me trying to fulfill the law. Basically, You stop me from “righteously” keeping the law, you get the wrath of the law in return.

I then turned the wrath inward on myself.

If I stop myself from keeping the law? I gave myself silent condemnation, mental scolding, and guilt-laced shame.

In both cases I was wielding the law like a heavy gavel.
Both situations placed me firmly in the judgment seat where I knew I wasn’t meant to be sitting.

To be free from that pressure of wielding judgment against others and myself, I had to be reminded to give up the role of judge and let Christ sit in that position in my life.

Grace was the only way that was able to happen.

As Holy Spirit continued having me read through Romans, I eventually landed here:

Now I heard His voice speak again:

“I didn’t die to help you hold it together. I died to set you free from the system that said you had to.”

I knew the law is necessary as scripture says. However fixating on my relationship to it was making me focus on something Christ has already taken care of. 

As I was being shown in real time, that’s why the law is called a curse:

Jesus was reminding me why I had needed to die in Him:

This was never about performance.

It’s about grace.

It’s about continually walking in lockstep with Christ in us now as new creations.

I was trying to prove I was good enough: for my family, my team, and myself.
Which meant I was still living under the law.

My anger? Law.
My guilt? Law.
My striving? Still law.

I confessed.
I repented before God about living under the law.
Then I went and apologized to my kids.

Because true change doesn’t come from pressure.
It comes from grace.

Until next time,
Addison