As we cleaned out our mother’s house, my two sisters and I were delighted to discover that our mom kept our kindergarten artwork, in triplicate because we had the same teacher, Mrs. Compton.

My oldest sib’s drawing of the circus tent was probably an exact copy of Mrs. Compton—that oldest sibling thing and all. At the bottom of her drawing, my sister printed neatly, “The circus.”

My middle sister’s drawing of the circus tent reflected the future nurse in her: evenly spaced stripes and precise colors. Her caption: “The circus.” No mistaking it for anything else.

Then there was me. If our mother squinted hard enough, she could make out “The cirgus” her creative and future editor daughter drew and captioned. We also admired the two “The Christmas Angel” drawings, and the one “Christmas Angle.” No need to give credit where credit is due.

Such are the true confessions of an editor—I am not a good speller. I don’t trust myself or even spellcheck. I do have, however, a sense of when a word doesn’t look right to me, and I turn to the experts and their online dictionaries.

There are times I wish had a better sense of my sins or, more accurately, enough sense not to attribute sin to a mistake or burnout or a lapse in judgment.

It’s too late for Anaias and Sapphira to wish they had a better sense of their sin such as “Stop. What are we thinking? Don’t bury the proceeds. Don't lie about it to look better than you are."” Instead, Ananias and Sapphira stand in stark contrast to Barnabas’ generosity. Act 4 closes with Barnabas who sold “a field that belonged to him and laid it at the apostles’ feet,” and Acts 5 opens with a deadly property transaction.

It’s astonishing and sobering how quickly we can become de-sensitized to sin, and while it still doesn’t look right, it also doesn’t lookthatwrong. I go on my merry way, gossiping, grumbling, excluding, or excusing any number of okay sins. In a weird way, I am like Ananias and Sapphira, in that I bury some of my sins rather than unearth them and lay them at Jesus’ feet.

When I do consult the expert’s Word, I am overwhelmed (as always) with the beautiful paradox of God’s grace and my sins. It’s this paradox the psalmist sings about in Psalm 130, “If you, O Lord, should mark iniquities, O Lord, who could stand? But with you there is forgiveness, that you may be feared. . . O Israel, hope in the Lord! For with the Lord there is steadfast love, and with him is plentiful redemption.” (verses 3, 7)

It’s when I have the good sense not to bury my sin, but dump it all—good, bad and indifferent—at Jesus’ feet, that I am forgiven. After all, it was Christ who died, was buried and rose again, holding nothing back to redeem a lost world, a lost me.