In my first journal entry, I shared how this 40-day retreat invited me into a renewed understanding of my spiritual life as a friendship with Jesus—one shaped by silence, rest, and the unforced rhythms of grace. As the retreat continued, that friendship gently led me deeper, inviting me to face my own sinfulness, not in fear, but within the presence of God’s mercy. This entry reflects the early movements of the Spiritual Exercises, where honest self-examination was held within the safety of God’s steadfast love. What emerged was not despair, but gratitude—and a deeper longing to be made whole.
Learning to Come Home
Each day began with a simple prayer: to stand reverently before God and ask that everything in my day be directed toward His service and praise. The grace I was instructed to ask for was specific—to feel shame and confusion before God as I considered the weight of even a single sin in light of my own sinful life. This was not self-condemnation, but a desire for truth, knowing that to understand God’s love more deeply, I must also acknowledge my need for mercy. To know the depth of God’s love is to know the depth of our sinfulness.
Jesus met me through familiar Scriptures. In the story of Martha and Mary (Luke 10:38–42), I saw myself—often distracted, scattered, and overly concerned with how I am perceived by others. Like Peter turning to ask (John 21:20–22), “What about him?” I recognized my tendency to measure myself against others instead of simply following Jesus. Again and again, Jesus gently redirected me: “What is that to you? You must follow me.”
The parable of the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32) deepened this awareness. I noticed how both sons misunderstood their identity. The younger son returned home seeing himself as a hired servant, not a beloved son. The older son, though never leaving physically, had also broken fellowship with the father, relating to him through duty rather than love. What struck me most was the father’s response—reckless, extravagant, almost unbelievable in its grace. Really? For me?
As the Exercises invited me to reflect on sin—personal and communal—I became aware of patterns in my own heart: pride, self-reliance, jealousy, excuses, and subtle “no’s” to Jesus. I saw how sin is not merely about wrongdoing, but about choosing separation—choosing blessings over the Blesser, productivity over presence, self over surrender. Yet, these reflections were always held within a crucial truth: God’s grace is a safety net. Without it, honest self-examination would lead to despair. With it, confession becomes a doorway to freedom.
In John 8:1–11, I found myself deeply moved by the woman’s humiliation—publicly exposed, shamed, and left alone. Jesus allowed the moment to unfold, not to condone the cruelty, but to reveal a deeper truth: that those who stood ready to condemn were not sinless themselves. As Jesus confronted the teachers of the law and the Pharisees, their stones fell one by one, and with each departure it felt as though the chains binding the woman also loosened and fell away. In an extraordinary act of mercy, Jesus met her in the depths of her brokenness, lifting her out of the pit she could not escape by her own strength. She left humiliated, yes—but not condemned; forgiven, restored, and touched by a freedom only Jesus could give.
In the story of the sinful woman who anointed Jesus’ feet (Luke 7:36–50), I encountered a posture I longed to learn. She was bold, focused, unconcerned with others’ opinions, and wholly oriented toward Jesus. She knew the depth of her sin, yet she did not wear “sinner” as her identity. Instead, she received a new name: beloved. Jesus’ words—“Go in peace”—felt like a gift meant not only for her, but for me as well.
Ultimately, I was reminded that we do not make ourselves right with God; we are made right with God through Jesus Christ’s sacrifice. We come just as we are—humble, honest, and open. Repentance is not about staying in shame, but about coming home again and again to a Father who runs toward us while we are still far off.
To encounter Jesus is to be changed. How could it be otherwise?