You're Not Broken (Even Though the World Keeps Telling You That You Are)

Here's the thing nobody tells you: the story of Adam falling from grace? It's not actually about you.

I know, I know. Your whole life you've maybe heard some version of "we're all fallen, we're all sinful, we're all just doing our best with this corrupted human nature." It gets baked into everything—why you feel guilty for sleeping in, why you assume you're fundamentally flawed, why you brace for the worst.

But what if that narrative is just... wrong?

The Bible lesson this week pulls apart two very different creation stories sitting right next to each other in Genesis. The first one says you're made in God's image—perfect, capable, whole. The second one (the Adam story) says you're made from dust and you're basically screwed from the start.

Here's where it gets interesting: Christian Science doesn't dismiss the Adam story. It just refuses to accept it as the true story about you.

Think of it like this. You know how you can read the same situation two totally different ways? Like, a friend cancels plans—maybe they're flaking on you (material interpretation), or maybe something genuine came up and they still care about you (spiritual interpretation). Same event, wildly different meaning depending on which lens you're looking through.

That's what's happening here. The "fallen man" narrative is a thought-system built on material belief—that you're primarily a body, subject to limitation, illness, and inevitable decline. It's not describing reality; it's describing the beliefs we've inherited and then internalized as truth.

The spiritual truth? You're an idea in God's mind. Not metaphorically—literally. Which means your nature is already whole, intelligent, and not subject to degradation. You don't need to fix yourself or earn your way back to wholeness. You were never actually separate from it.

Does this land easy? Probably not. Because years of "you're born broken, try to be good" doesn't just vanish because someone quotes Genesis at you. But here's what changes when you start questioning it: you stop living like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Instead of managing a flawed nature, you start noticing what's actually true about you—how you solve problems, how you show up for people, how resilient you actually are. Not as proof that you're fixing yourself, but as evidence of what was always there.

That shift—from "I'm broken and trying" to "I'm whole and already equipped"—it changes everything. Not because you suddenly become perfect. But because you stop auditioning for a role you never actually auditioned for.

So here's the question: What would you do if you actually believed you weren't fallen? Not perfect. But fundamentally sound. Already equipped with everything you need to move through life with clarity and grace.

What would shift?