Furthermore, my small view of God kept me from grasping how wicked my sin against him actually was and what an act of mercy it was for him to save me. I confessed, of course, that I was a sinner in need of grace, but I didn’t sense, deep in my heart, my desperate need for mercy. I raged against the concept of hell because I didn’t think I really deserved it—and if I didn’t really deserve it, why did anyone else? So, like the Pharisees who scoffed at the forgiven prostitute weeping with love at Jesus’s feet, I didn’t love God that much because—like them—deep down I didn’t think I had been
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