Jealousy. Green sticky goo must come out of me somehow. I am jealous. I hide my hands behind my back. A cover-up; I will pray for you. But behind my back the goo leaks. No one notices until the puddle of goo forms at my feet.

I stand back in shock. That must be someone else’s jealousy I am standing in! I take a step to the left in horror, trying to kick the green goo off my feet, legs, trying to be free. My friend smiles at me compassionately. She understands that the green goo couldn’t possibly be mine. I am HER friend! She stands in a puddle of her own goo. I pretend not to notice.

And so the mutual self-denial is edifying. Let’s bow our heads, hold hands in unity, and pray for the one that we esteem so highly. We are spiritual. We aren’t jealous. But when we are done, our hearts pump specks of charcoal throughout our bodies. Death has touched our hearts. We won’t speak of our sin, and so our sin holds us captive.

But in my room at night, where no one can see, I cry out to God in desperation. God, look at the state of my heart! It is singed with death! I try to pray, but my prayers go up in smoke. Can you help me? Name it, He speaks, gently. Name why your heart is smoldering now, a smoking log and not a blazing fire.

Looking down in shame, I speak. “I am jealous.” And the Lord dances. He dances with joy, pulling me out of my despair to join Him. Well done, he whispers softly into my ear. And I am joyful. Like a toddler covered in mud, who made a mess of their surroundings, I am free. The mud washes off, easily.

My mess does not define me. I am defined by Him, the truth, because I speak the truth. I see myself through His eyes, forgiven, when I am honest with Him, myself, others. Not overly self-deprecating. Not hiding. Just honest.

I bring my problems, like a difficult math question to my Father, for help. “Why am I jealous?” I ask Him. He points to weeds in the garden of my heart that I have neglected to uproot, yes, but He also shows me that there is green goo in the air, everywhere in our culture. I breathed it in, and it took root, simply because from grade school, we compare the one to the other. An unhealthy system has infected me as well.

And it doesn’t matter, actually, why I am ill, or how I contributed to the growth of the ugly mess. The doctor has come, to innoculate me with His love. And I can dance again.

And so the next time that my friend and I stand in pools of our own making of green sticky goo, I can get out the broom, the one that Jesus gave me. I can offer to show my friend how Jesus helped me clean up my life, to sweep away the goo. Do you want to borrow the broom? Holding the broom with Him, you and He can sweep away your goo, too. And He will dance with joy, as your heart is revived, refined a little more. And we are free to soar.

We don’t have to hide.

If we claim that we’re free of sin, we’re only fooling ourselves. A claim like that is errant nonsense. On the other hand, if we admit our sins—simply come clean about them—he won’t let us down; he’ll be true to himself. He’ll forgive our sins and purge us of all wrongdoing. The Message

Consider asking God if there is any strange goo at your feet that you don’t want to see. Holy Spirit, set us free, we pray. May we be courageous enough to see ourselves the way we really are, so that our eyes can begin to see with clarity the vision You have for our futures, as we connect our lives to You, we pray.