I have often wished that I did not have so many great desires. For had I fewer and lesser desires, I should be less pained when I am called to lay them aside for Christ.
If food did not so interest me, if I did not so much enjoy comfort, if I did not so much long for recognition. If this world did not so much enchant me, the breaking of the spell should leave more of myself intact.
And such is the problem–not my desires but the thing that both produces them and is sustained by them. I am the problem and all my desires are small compared to the desire for self-preservation. Self-love induces me to beg for things for myself–and that, at least, if they must be taken, I might remain.
But that is exactly opposite what Christ has come to do. He has not come to make me an ascetic–free from all but myself–but to make me nonexistent. His dream is not that I HAVE less but that I BE less–in the sense that every jot of identity that I hold of my own and apart from Him is completely and utterly destroyed.
Thus is my struggle. Even in denying itself, my flesh seeks to save itself. If the bewitched self should be destroyed, surely a more noble self remains.
O what folly I am consumed by–to think that something worthwhile dwells in me. For in me dwells no good thing. My righteousness is as filthy rags. Every thought and intention of my heart is evil.
Lord, I do not want You to destroy myself, but please do. I do not want my desires to be denied, but let them be. I do not want to be cut away, but I desire that You would be shown a great. So I bow this clay to the Potter’s hand and only beg that in my place You leave Your image.