Dear Old Self,
We meet again—and again and again. I truly despise that you keep crawling back at my most vulnerable moments, unveiling my most hideous sins. But it’s my own fault, of course. I hear you knock, open the door, invite you in, and pull up a chair for you. I let you get comfy—that’s on me.
But I did something that gave you a severe battle wound—I was honest about my struggle. No, no, there wasn’t some secret sin I was concealing like watching pornography. That is in the past and it stayed in the past; it’s done enough damage already. I admitted to my wife that, in a general sense, I still struggle with you, specifically with fighting lust, with keeping my eyes clean from impurities. I know this is a struggle for virtually all Christian men, but it’s still sin.
My bigger problem, of course, is acting like I didn’t struggle with you coming back, namely, my pride. I acted like it was a non-issue. I was dishonest with her, with the very one that could help me fight you. How foolish of me!
The moment I confessed was the moment your grip on my heart loosened dramatically. Back when you and I thought the same way—before I began following Jesus—lust was not simply a non-issue, but a perpetual, unrepentant act of indulgence. Ever since the days of junior high, lust filled my heart and pornography was in front of me. Old Self, I loved you. We were good pals with not a care in the world about what God had to say about my sin. You and me? There was no war, only so-called “peace.”
But God. You know, the one you hate? The one you can’t stand the sight of? The one that causes you to tremble? He saved me. And when He saved me, He changed me—transformed me into a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17), a trophy of sovereign grace. As a result, my need for you died. In fact, you became dead to me. It’s not that we’re no longer buddies, but now we’re enemies throwing punches left and right. And when I confessed I still struggle with your temptation of lust on occasion, you were delivered an uppercut that left you unconscious. Not dead, though. Unfortunately, you won’t completely die until my physical body dies and the Lord takes me to glory, where I will finally be rid of your nagging presence, your annoying ability to walk back into my life.
So the fight goes on, Old Self. You will try to come back daily—I know you too well. But the enticements you offer, the temptations you lay before me will not lure me in. Perhaps you will land a blow to my midsection every once in awhile, but it won’t last. I’ll get back up by God’s grace. I’ll dust my feet off, repent, and keep my eyes fixed on Jesus.
That is ultimately how I defeat you, Old Self: gazing at Jesus. The temptations you bring compare nothing to the surpassing satisfaction of obeying Christ. It is when my eyes are off Jesus that you take hold of me.
Jeff Medder said this:
Reflect with me on the word gazing. This is not a glancing at God. You would never glance at a sunset on the beach. You pause. You marvel. To truly look at the sunset, you drink it in for a while and invite others to see it. God is infinitely more gaze-worthy than a sunset.
Old Self, the more I gaze at the beauty of Jesus, the more I’m able to smell the putridity of what you offer. The more I gaze at God’s all-surpassing glory and holiness, the less inclined I am to give into what you put before me. When I fixate my gaze upon the Lord Jesus, you are not even an afterthought.
So, Old Self, like I told you last time I wrote you: your days are numbered. The time will be soon when you’re fully put to death and I will rejoice with the Lord forever.
I’m sure you’ll hear from me again.
Yours (not so) truly,
New Self
Blake Long 
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