Getting the point…

When we were kids, my older brother did something which made a big impression on my mind. He shot me in the head with his bow and arrow. We were in the backyard and I bent over to pick up a ball and the sight of the top of my big, round head was apparently too much for him to resist. We both quickly realized that a mistake had been made. I was in pain and bleeding…and he knew he was gonna get it.
After a trip to the doctor, I was okay; I even got to wear my baseball cap to church that week to cover the shaved circle on top of my head. The evening of “the incident,” my parents were in their room when a sheet of paper slid under the door. My brother had drawn up a formal document, using my dad’s typewriter. The title was in all caps (though misspelled): “A PLEDGE OF SAFTY.” Below, in a signed paragraph, he solemnly promised to never again shoot his little brother with an arrow.
And you know what? He never has…at least so far.
If only all our pledges could be so easily kept, all those promises we’ve made to God if He would only give us a break this one time. I’ve done a poor job of holding up my end of the God-bargains I’ve sworn to.
In a scrapbook at home, I still have my brother’s pledge. I can flourish it in his face if I ever need to, saying, “See? You promised!”
But God is not like that. Those broken promises I made? He can’t find ‘em. He doesn’t seem to remember them. The wounds and hurts I’ve caused Him? He’s forgiven and forgotten them. And I love that. See, I need more guilt and shame like I need…well, another hole in my head. And I’ve already got one of those, thanks to my brother.