My husband and I planned to meet my family for dinner one evening. To make a long story — filled with blame, self-pity, mental road rage, and maybe a few tears — short, I was late.

Thirty minutes late. Forty minutes late if you count my family arriving early. While I joined the conversation and laughed with the littles, my internal posture was tightened, resentful. I hate being late.

By the next evening, my attitude had improved, but my clarity surrounding the anger had not. Then I remembered how anger is oftentimes a secondary emotion — the outpouring of indwelling shame and fear. As I journaled a confused confession, this phrase emerged on the page before I had the chance to self-edit or deny it:

“I feel like I can’t uphold my end of the deal.”

What deal did I make? Who was involved in this deal that I don’t even remember making?

Me. I make deals with myself all the time. I will be punctual. I will remember to send birthday cards. I won’t let anyone down.

In some form, things like maintaining our commitments and celebrating others reflects the loyalty and intentionality of Christ. But instead of honoring God with my reliability, I often desire to meet expectations to maintain my image and prevent others’ judgments. So I make deals with myself, shaking hands with perfectionism.

But you know one truth I’m continually learning? I will never be able to uphold my end of the deal. And that’s precisely the point.

The Bible depicts this through a complicated scene in Genesis 15, where God makes a covenant with Abram. God promises him descendants more numerous than the stars and a land to call their own. To assure Abram of His word, God sets up a covenant ritual. Culturally, the covenant required both parties to literally walk a path through animals that had been sacrificed and divided in two.

Perhaps the most significant detail of the story is that God puts Abram in a deep sleep — and walks the path by Himself. He makes a covenant of faithfulness that would last forever. God guarantees His loyalty, knowing that Abram’s sinful disposition prohibited him from living a life of equitable faithfulness.

God knows Abram (and his descendants) will deliberately disobey, but He chooses to uphold His end of the deal, despite their inevitable offenses.

This is an exquisite foreshadowing of the coming Messiah, who sacrificed Himself for the sake of uniting the holy with the earthbound. Jesus’ atonement for sin initiates a plot twist for perfection seekers. We need not pursue perfection through performance. By our confession of faith and God’s unfathomable grace, He declares us righteous {see 2 Corinthians 5:21}, and the Holy Spirit continues to teach us what it means to live into this given identity, rather than earn it {see John 14:26}.

We must forsake the idea that a flawless execution of our spiritual journey will please God and impress others. If I try to earn the favor of God (or those around me), then no, I will never be able to uphold my end of the deal.

But Jesus established a new covenant of reconciliation, despite our imperfection.

I talk about grace all the time — how God forgives the weighty sins we’ve carried so long, how we have direct access to the Father no matter how big the mess we think is in the way, how He stands ready to pour out salvation. But that night at dinner, I forgot that grace covers the everyday struggles, too — the pressure to please everyone, grasping to keep control, excessive self-monitoring, fearing judgment and disconnection.

I’m reminded, once again, that the whole point of Jesus’s reconciliation-over-perfection covenant is not to compel me to try harder and get it together, but instead to set me free.

So Christ has truly set us free. Now make sure that you stay free, and don’t get tied up again in slavery to the law. {Galatians 5:1}

So of course I can’t uphold my end of the deal. And that is exactly why Jesus did.

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