“But the fruit of the Spirit are love… self discipline…”

Pride sets self toe to toe with God and rings the bell to start the match. “It is difficult to kick against the goads.” I let out cries of frustration. I am black and blue but pride won’t take the fall.

The Spirit filled life shows the fruit of the Spirit. The fruit (love and self discipline) put others ahead of me. I need to be filled afresh. Yes, Lord, still, how? All I have are rags and bruises—the filth of self that pride has sheltered. When I see what I have God says come and buy gold refined in the fire and pure white robes.

Lord, take my rags and filth and fill me with love and self-discipline. Hands in the air, I’m tired of fighting you. I surrender. Only you can put into my heart what isn’t there.

I fear visitation and am defensive when corrected. My pride is visible. Lord I hurt. I trust it is your scalpel.