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I’m going to be preachy here.
Very preachy.
Because there is something I hear often in the church that has started to bother me: “I’m just a sinner saved by grace.”
I understand what people mean when they say it. Usually, it is intended to be humble. We are acknowledging that we didn’t save ourselves, that we didn’t earn our salvation, and that we desperately needed God’s grace.
I agree with all of that.
But I don’t agree with identifying myself as a sinner anymore.
I am saved by grace.
There is a difference.
I was a sinner.
I have absolutely no problem saying that. I know who I was. I know what I’ve done wrong, the mistakes I’ve made, and the ways I’ve failed. Trust me, I’m not confused about my imperfections. I may very well be one of the most imperfect people I know.
But my imperfections are not my identity.
When I placed my faith in Jesus Christ and was born again, something changed.
Second Corinthians 5:17 says in the NLT, “This means that anyone who belongs to Christ has become a new person. The old life is gone; a new life has begun!”
The old life is gone.
A new life has begun.
So why would I continue introducing myself by the old one?
I Am a New Creation
This is where I think we sometimes get stuck.
We know we’re saved, but we continue thinking of ourselves primarily as sinners who happen to be saved.
But Scripture tells me I am a new creation in Christ.
That doesn’t mean I’m perfect. It doesn’t mean I never sin or won’t make another mistake tomorrow. I absolutely will. I still need Jesus every single day.
If you need the reminder that following Jesus doesn’t require becoming Super Christian Wonder Woman, I’ve written about that, too.
But there is a difference between committing a sin and identifying as a sinner.
I can fail without making failure my identity. I can stumble without deciding that stumbling is who I am. I can need forgiveness without believing that my past has the authority to define me.
Jesus changed that.
And this is where grace gets even more beautiful.
Hebrews 10:10 tells us that we have been made holy through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all time.
Jesus didn’t pay for the sins I had committed up until the day I accepted Him and then leave me responsible for figuring out the rest. His sacrifice was more than sufficient.
First John 1:7 tells us that the blood of Jesus, God’s Son, “cleanses us from all sin.”
All.
That includes my past sin. It covers the things I still fail at today and the things I will do tomorrow that I haven’t even messed up yet.
Now, that doesn’t give me a license to sin. Quite the opposite. It makes me want to live differently.
Let’s be very clear about this because I know exactly where someone’s mind could go.
If Jesus has paid for all my sin, does that mean I can just do whatever I want?
No. Absolutely not.
Romans 6:1-2 addresses this very idea. Paul asks whether we should keep sinning so that God can give us more and more grace. His answer is essentially, of course not.
Grace isn’t permission to live however I want.
Grace is the reason I want to live differently.
When I understand what Jesus has done for me, I don’t want to casually walk back into the things He rescued me from. I want holiness. I want obedience. I want my life to look different because my heart has been changed.
This is why the phrase “living from the throne room” means so much to me.
Ephesians 2:6 tells us that God raised us up with Christ and seated us with Him in the heavenly realms because we are united with Christ Jesus.
That is an extraordinary statement.
I’m not saying I’m God. I’m not saying I’m perfect. I’m not saying I deserve anything. I’m simply saying that because of Jesus, I have access to God.
Hebrews 4:16 tells us that we can approach God’s throne of grace with confidence so that we can receive His mercy and find grace when we need it.
So I don’t want to spend my life standing outside the throne room thinking, I’m just a sinner. I’m not good enough. I don’t belong here.
Jesus says otherwise.
The door is open.
Come in.
Receive mercy.
Receive grace.
And then go live differently.
Living from the throne room doesn’t mean sitting back and doing nothing. It means allowing my relationship with God to transform the way I live.
I read my Bible because I want to know Him. I study Scripture because I want to understand what He says. I pray because I want an active relationship with my Father, not a Sunday-morning relationship with Him.
I worship, repent, listen, learn, serve, forgive, and try again when I fail.
I ask God to show me the places in my life that don’t look like Him. And when He shows me something, I don’t want to defend it with, “Well, I’m just a sinner.”
No.
I’m His daughter.
And because I’m His daughter, I want to become more like Him.
That’s the difference.
I Am Not Perfect. I Know That.
Please don’t misunderstand me.
I’m not walking around thinking I’ve arrived. I haven’t. I’m a work in progress. I’m imperfect. Sometimes spectacularly so.
There are days when I get it right and days when I get it very, very wrong. I still lose my patience. I still say things I shouldn’t. I still have attitudes I need to surrender. I still have areas where God is working on me.
I still need repentance.
I still need grace.
I still need Jesus.
But I don’t need to call myself a sinner to acknowledge any of that.
I can say, “I failed.”
I can say, “I sinned.”
I can say, “I need forgiveness.”
And then I can get back up.
Because my failure is an event.
It is not my identity.
I wrote more about this in Grace For Failure Days, because sometimes failure gets much louder than the truth.
This is really what I want us to take away.
I don’t want to identify myself by what Jesus came to save me from. I want to live from what He has done for me.
I was a sinner. I’ve been saved by grace. I am a now new creation.
I am His daughter.
And I’m still growing.
Those things can all be true at the same time.
I don’t need to pretend I never fail in order to know who I am. I simply need to believe what God says about me.
Because words matter.
Identity matters.
And I don’t want to keep introducing myself as someone defined by sin when Jesus has given me a new life.
I know who I was. I know what I’ve done. I know how imperfect I am.
But I also know what Jesus has done.
And because of Him, I know who I am.
I am saved by grace, and I am learning every day to live from the throne room of God, pursuing holiness not because I’m trying to earn His love, but because I already have it.
And that, my friends, is worth being preachy about.
If you’ve been carrying an identity built around your past, your failures, or the things you wish you could undo, I hope you’ll take a moment today to remember who you are in Christ. You are not defined by your worst moments. You are His.
What would change in your life if you began living from that truth?
I am an Autumn.
I was born in October, so technically, I have been an Autumn since birth. But I don’t just like fall. I absolutely thrive in it.
There is something that happens to me when the calendar gets closer to October. My entire personality seems to shift. I go from being a grumpy, tired, indoors-loving ogre who spends the summer with her hair thrown back into whatever is coolest, wearing sloppy shorts and a tank top, walking barefoot around the house and drinking iced lattes, to a completely different human being.
Then comes the first hint of fall, and suddenly my entire outlook on life changes.
The windows open. The sweaters come out. The blankets begin migrating into all my favorite corners of the house. I stop refilling the ice cube tray quite as often.
Hot coffee in the morning and a soothing cup of hot tea in the evening suddenly sound like exactly what I need to survive another day.
And honestly?
I love everything about it.
I love the smell of burning wood drifting through the neighborhood when people light their first fires of the season. I love watching the world outside transform as the bright blues, whites, and pinks of summer give way to deep reds, oranges, and fiery yellows.
And those colors?
Normally, they aren’t even my favorites. But when fall arrives, suddenly I’m looking at an orange tree like it personally performed a miracle.
Give me a crisp breeze, an open window, a warm blanket, a cup of coffee, and a slightly spooky book, and I am one very happy Autumn.
Maybe that’s why I feel so different when fall arrives. Summer seems to demand things from me.
Go outside.
Enjoy the sunshine.
Be productive.
Get some fresh air.
Fall doesn’t seem to care quite as much. Fall says, “Come inside. Put on a sweater. I’ll make some soup.”
Obviously, we understand each other.
My house changes with the season, too.
Suddenly, I want everything to feel warm and cozy. The blankets come out. The candles get switched up. The coffee mugs somehow become more important. My reading spots become sacred territory.
I start thinking about soups, casseroles, and baked things, even though I am perfectly capable of eating the exact same foods I ate in July.
There is just something about fall that makes me want to slow down.
Maybe it’s the cooler temperatures. Maybe it’s the shorter days. Maybe it’s the fact that summer has finally stopped yelling at me to go outside.
Whatever it is, I welcome it.
Fall feels like permission to stay home.
It feels like permission to put on a sweater, grab a book, make something warm to drink, and settle into my favorite chair without feeling like I should be doing something else.
And maybe that’s one of the reasons I love this season so much.
It makes ordinary things feel special. A mug of coffee becomes an event. A blanket becomes a necessity. Opening a window becomes one of the best parts of the day. And sitting quietly with a book suddenly feels like exactly where I’m supposed to be.
Of course, speaking of books…
Summer me wants sunshine, vacation vibes, and maybe a cute little romance.
Fall me?
Give me an old house. Give me a mysterious woman wandering around an abandoned property. Give me a creaky staircase, a family secret, and something that may or may not be haunting the attic.
Preferably with a cup of tea beside me.
I don’t know what happens to me when fall rolls around, but apparently my reading preferences suddenly develop a deep appreciation for ghosts. And honestly, I’m okay with it.
My light summer and beach reads slowly give way to haunted houses, mysterious old homes, family secrets, forgotten histories, and stories with just enough creepiness to make me want to curl up under a blanket.
Nothing too terrifying, of course.
I’m still trying to sleep at night.
But give me a slightly creepy house, a woman determined to uncover its secrets, and the possibility that something strange happened there fifty years ago?
I’m in. Preferably before dark – although if we’re being honest, that’s when the story gets interesting.
And apparently, my seasonal personality isn’t limited to my reading choices.
It has opinions about my wardrobe, too.
I go from, “What is the absolute minimum amount of clothing I can wear without getting arrested for indecent exposure?” to, “Look at me! I have layers!”
Sweaters.
Jeans.
Cozy socks.
Cardigans.
I love them all.
There is something incredibly satisfying about putting on a sweater and realizing you are actually comfortable. Even better, I can leave the house without immediately feeling like I’ve walked into a hair dryer. There is something wonderful about stepping outside on a crisp fall morning and realizing you actually need a jacket.
I will take that over sweating while standing perfectly still any day of the week.
And I love the little things that come with it.
The sound of leaves crunching under my feet. The first chilly morning. The smell of coffee drifting through the house. A blanket over my legs while I read (although, that’s me year round). The early evening darkness. A warm meal simmering in the kitchen. The anticipation of Halloween. The beautiful colors everywhere I look.
The feeling that the world itself has slowed down just a little.
Maybe that’s really what I love most.
Fall doesn’t seem to rush me.
And as I’ve gotten older, I’ve realized just how much I appreciate that.
Fall makes me nostalgic, too.
Maybe that’s part of getting older. Seasons seem to carry memories with them.
I think about my girls when they were little. Halloween costumes. School activities. Chilly mornings. Pumpkin patches. Trips to pick out Halloween candy. All those ordinary little moments that didn’t seem particularly important at the time.
Now those ordinary moments are some of the ones I remember most.
That’s the funny thing about life.
When we’re living through a moment, we don’t always know we’re creating a memory.
We think we’re just making breakfast, driving them to school, picking out Halloween costumes, taking pictures, and watching our kids run around the house. We don’t realize we’re creating memories. We just think we’re living an ordinary day.
Then suddenly, years have passed, and those ordinary moments are the ones we would give almost anything to experience one more time.
Maybe that’s another reason I love fall so much. It reminds me that life doesn’t have to be loud to be beautiful. Sometimes it’s a quiet morning, a warm mug, a good book, and a blanket. Sometimes it’s opening the windows and letting cool air move through the house. Sometimes it’s watching the trees change colors and realizing that change can actually be beautiful. Which, considering I’m approaching 58, is probably a lesson I should appreciate.
Because I am changing, too.
I’m not the woman I was in my twenties or thirties.
I’m not even the woman I was ten years ago.
And you know what?
That’s okay.
There are things about getting older that I don’t particularly love. My body has opinions now that it didn’t used to have. My metabolism apparently retired without telling me. My energy doesn’t always cooperate with my plans.
But there are also things I genuinely appreciate about being this age. I know myself a whole lot better than I used to. I know what I like, what I don’t like, what I’m willing to put up with, and what I absolutely am not. I know what matters to me now, and I’m finally getting better at letting the rest go. I’m also learning that changing doesn’t mean something is wrong with me. Maybe it just means I’m not supposed to stay exactly the same forever.
Maybe fall is a good reminder of that.
The trees don’t apologize for losing their leaves.
They don’t panic and say, “Oh no! I’m not green anymore!”
They simply change. They let go of what they don’t need and, eventually, they begin again.
There is something comforting about that.
We spend so much of our lives trying to hold on to who we used to be.
The younger version of ourselves.
The version with different dreams, different responsibilities, different energy, and probably a metabolism that didn’t require a committee meeting before agreeing to burn a calorie.
But maybe we’re not supposed to stay the same.
Maybe we’re supposed to have seasons, too.
Maybe some things are meant to fall away.
Maybe some things are meant to make room for something new.
And maybe getting older isn’t about becoming less of who we were.
Maybe it’s about becoming more comfortable with who we are now.
I don’t know.
I’m still figuring that part out.
But I do know that every year, when the temperatures drop and the leaves begin to change, something in me settles down.
I breathe a little deeper.
I slow down.
I notice things.
I open the windows.
I make coffee.
I pick up a book.
I pull a blanket over my legs.
And for a little while, everything feels exactly as it should.
So yes.
I am officially declaring myself an Autumn.
Not just because I was born in October.
Not just because I love sweaters, hot coffee, cozy blankets, open windows, changing leaves, and slightly creepy books.
But because something about this season feels like home.
Summer me can keep her iced latte and her air conditioning.
Fall me is here.
She’s wearing a sweater, carrying a hot cup of coffee, opening the windows, admiring the leaves, thinking about soup, and probably looking for her next haunted house to read about.
And she is very, very happy to be here.
Life is funny. Or so they say.
I remember being in high school, long ago, and thinking I would have my whole life figured out by the time I reached my 50s. Fifty seemed positively ancient back then.
Then I graduated and started working. I remember thinking, “Just a few more years, and then I’ll get married and life will begin.”
I assumed I would spend my 20s sorting everything out and then spend my 30s really living life.
Of course, life had other plans.
My 30s arrived, and I found myself in an unhappy marriage with two beautiful girls who still bring so much sparkle to my life. I remember thinking, This isn’t how this was supposed to go.
By the end of my 30s, I was divorced and living back at home, thank God. I entered my 40s trying to rebuild not only my life, but myself.
Don’t get me wrong. Divorce freed me to finally start living again, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t one of the most painful seasons of my life.
I feel like I surfed through most of my 40s.
Neither here nor there.
Just maintaining. Keeping my head above water. Doing what needed to be done and trying to figure out what came next.
Then, near the end of my 40s, life changed again.
Big.
And painful.
I lost the two women who had been my anchors.
So once again, I entered another decade rebuilding my life and rebuilding myself.
Only this time, there wasn’t anyone to make it happen for me like there had been before.
It was just me and God.
I’m almost 58 now, and these past eight years haven’t exactly been easy.
But something has changed.
I can honestly say I’ve probably experienced more personal growth during these years than I did in all the decades before them.
I built a life for my girls and me as we learned to heal after losing my mom and my aunt.
I watched my little girl get married to the man of her dreams.
My older daughter was diagnosed with autism and found her person for this life.
I bought a house with my sister.
I became a grandmother.
Those things are precious. They are some of the sweetest gifts God has given me.
But even those things don’t compare to the deeper work God has been doing in me.
The correction.
The pruning.
The uncomfortable moments when He lovingly shows me that some things I thought were simply who I am are actually things He wants to change.
And honestly, that has been one of the greatest gifts of this season.
For the first time in my life, I feel like I am fully submitted to His will, whatever that may be.
And yes, I’m saying yes.
Although I am still respectfully asking Him not to relocate me to Florida or call me to be a missionary somewhere without air conditioning, where bugs and snakes are apparently considered part of the scenery.
But other than that?
Yes, Lord.
I’m also finally beginning to release my Vulcan death grip on old hurts.
And hear me when I say this: letting go of past hurts isn’t always about just forgiving someone else. Sometimes it’s about repenting for the part I played in the story.
That one hurts.
But it’s also freeing.
For a long time, I thought healing meant getting past what other people had done to me. Now I’m realizing that healing also means allowing God to show me where I need to take responsibility, change, repent, and move forward.
That kind of honesty isn’t always comfortable.
But freedom rarely is.
So what’s the plan as I head toward my 60s?
Start now.
Don’t be a “one day” girl.
Be a “day one” woman.
I heard a pastor say that once, and it has stayed with me.
I have two years and two months left in my 50s, and I don’t want to end this decade the way the last two ended, with me simply surviving, maintaining, or waiting for the next thing to happen.
I want to walk into my 60s prepared.
Not perfect.
Prepared.
I want to be strong.
Strong in mind.
Strong in body.
Strong in faith.
I want a healthy mind that recognizes the enemy’s attacks instead of entertaining every fearful thought that walks through the door.
I want to be like a deeply rooted tree, steady when the storms come and not swept away by every tornado of what if and what now.
I want to live in a healthy body, fueled in a way that honors God and strong enough to move easily.
I want to dance in it.
Ride bikes in it.
Get down on the floor and roll around with my grandchildren in it.
And I want to be able to do whatever God asks of me for as long as He gives me.
I want a prayer life that breaks chains and rattles walls.
I want my daughters and sons-in-law to know they have a praying mama.
More than that, I want my grandchildren to grow up knowing, My grandma prays. And when Grandma prays, Heaven moves.
I don’t want prayer to be something I squeeze into my day when everything else is finished.
I want it to be the foundation underneath everything else.
I want to become fearless about reaching people for Jesus.
Not just being a pillar in my church, but being willing to step outside the comfortable walls of church and talk to someone about Jesus without letting fear talk me out of obedience.
I want to be willing to have the conversation.
To offer encouragement.
To pray for someone.
To share what Jesus has done in my life.
And I want my words to sound less like me and more like the Father.
I want to be debt free, owing no one anything except a debt of love.
Because there is a different kind of freedom that comes when you aren’t financially tied down and can say yes when God puts someone on your heart.
We are blessed to be a blessing.
And I want to be free to bless people.
I want to be closer than ever to retirement, not because I don’t want to work, but because I want the work I do to be God-ordained work.
I want to use the gifts, talents, experiences, and even the hobbies God has given me to encourage people.
I want to reach younger women.
I want to minister to older women.
I want to write.
I want to create.
I want to serve.
I want to make people laugh.
I want to tell stories that point people back to Jesus.
And I don’t want to wait until I retire to start living that way.
That’s the thing I’m finally beginning to understand. The woman I want to be in my 60s isn’t going to magically appear when I blow out the candles on my 60th birthday. The life I want isn’t waiting for me somewhere in the future. It is being built right now, in the choices I make today, the things I surrender today, the hurts I finally release, the habits I build, the prayers I pray, and the obedience that sometimes feels uncomfortable.
Maybe that’s what this season of life is really about. Not starting over. Not becoming someone completely different. But allowing God to finish the work He started in me all those years ago.
I spent a lot of my younger years waiting for my life to begin. I don’t want to do that anymore. My life isn’t waiting for me somewhere in my 60s. It’s happening right now.
And for the first time, I don’t need to have the whole thing figured out. I just need to know Who is leading me.
So here I am. Almost 58. Still learning. Still growing. Still messing things up occasionally. Still asking God to please keep the snakes out of my future. But more surrendered than I’ve ever been, and ready.
Not for some perfect future version of my life.
For today. For this season. For whatever God puts in front of me next.
Have you ever had a belief challenged? Someone feeds you a little truth, and suddenly you’re sitting in the middle of your belief system wondering what happened to your life.
As I’ve grown older and studied the Word more intently, I’ve realized there are several beliefs I need to replace with Truth.
It hasn’t necessarily been a pain-free process. Letting go of 50+ years of believing one way is hard. But if I want to grow, I have to “let it go”—as the song says.
So, here are some of the things I’ve had to let go of.
I’ve made a habit of tying my worth to what I accomplish. It’s probably why words of affirmation are my love language. Tell me I did a good job, and suddenly I feel like I’ve got my life together.
But the Bible tells me my worth isn’t wrapped up in what I do or how productive I am.
It’s wrapped up in Jesus.
“But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” — Romans 5:8
Jesus didn’t wait until I became productive enough, successful enough, or “good enough.” He died for me while I was still a sinner.
My worth wasn’t earned.
Jesus settled it at the cross.
I want to write and publish books. I want to build a business around writing, crochet, and embroidery. I want to read and review books. I want my blogs to succeed, and I want to grow them.
And through all of that, I hear a ticking clock in my head reminding me that I’m 57—almost 58—and time is running out.
But then I remember what the Bible says.
God regularly calls people later in life.
Moses was 80.
Caleb was 85 and still asking for mountains.
Sarah became a mother at 90.
Anna faithfully served God into old age.
“They will still bear fruit in old age, they will stay fresh and green.” — Psalm 92:14
The Bible never gives ministry, creativity, or purpose an expiration date.
There is no recall on my calling from God!
This one stops me every time.
It’s also why I start things and then stop, leaving them unfinished. I always need to see the whole process. I want the perfect plan for my blogs, my writing, my career…preferably before I take the first step.
But God doesn’t work that way.
He usually gives us enough light for the next step—not the next twenty.
“Your word is a lamp for my feet, a light on my path.” — Psalm 119:105
A lamp gives me enough light to see where I’m standing and where to put my next foot.
It doesn’t spotlight the entire road.
Maybe I don’t need the whole plan.
Maybe I just need to take the next step.
Let’s talk about this one.
Menopause. Anxiety. Overwhelm. Guilt. Brain fog.
Sometimes the whole gang gets together and beats me up until I’m a crying mess who just wants to eat chocolate, rock myself, and pet Percy.
Then I feel guilty for feeling all of it.
But the Bible doesn’t tell me I shouldn’t have emotions.
David cried. Elijah became overwhelmed. Jeremiah wept. Even Jesus cried.
Scripture says:
“Cast all your anxiety on him because he cares for you.” — 1 Peter 5:7
Notice it doesn’t say, “Get yourself together and then come to Me.”
It says cast it on Him.
Having emotions doesn’t mean I’m failing God.
It means I’m human.
I don’t have to be ashamed of what I feel. I just have to remember that my feelings are real, but they don’t have to be in charge.
I know I’ve joked about not wanting to be “Super Christian Wonder Woman.” And honestly, I think that’s a pretty healthy instinct.
Because when I look at the people God used throughout Scripture, I don’t see a lineup of superheroes.
I see ordinary people.
Fishermen.
Shepherds.
Widows.
Tax collectors.
Homemakers.
Farmers.
People with weaknesses, questions, fears, failures, and very ordinary lives.
And God used them.
“God chose the weak things of the world to shame the strong.” — 1 Corinthians 1:27
Maybe I don’t have to be extraordinary.
Maybe I just have to be willing.
I need to become a much better version of myself before God can use me.
This one might be the hardest to let go of.
Because I’m always trying to improve myself. Be better. Do better. Lose weight. Get organized. Be more productive. Finish what I start. Become more confident. Become more disciplined.
But Scripture keeps telling me a different story.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” — 2 Corinthians 12:9
God isn’t waiting for me to become younger, thinner, more successful, more organized, or more confident.
He isn’t waiting for the “finished version” of Vikki.
He can use me right now.
With my weaknesses.
With my unfinished projects.
With my messy emotions.
With my questions.
With my very ordinary life.
Because apparently, God has never needed me to be extraordinary.
He just needs me to be willing to let Him work through me.
