If-

The wind blows into this room, icy and biting my mind awake.

Today, as I sat through the sermon, I thought,
Why does it have to be so hard?

Why does it have to be so hard to choose Jesus?

Why is it so hard for us humans to finally - or over and over again, rechoose to - believe in God's existence? Why do we have to be born blind? And why does it take us so long, why does it take us a whole lifetime to learn to believe in him?

Why can't we just be born into light?

Why can't it just be easy to step out into the world and still stay on the path? It's too hard, it's too dark out here. It's night, as I sit on my bed. The wind's cold, so very cold.  

But if it were easy. . .

the miracle, the aching beauty of the redemption story, would be dampened. No, it would be
fully
snuffed
out.

If man had never fallen. If we had remained in God's presence from the start. If we were born knowing our Creator. If we didn't have to fight. If we didn't fall away. If we were like the angels, in the throne room, serving loyally, worshiping endlessly.

If all this darkness had never entered us. . .

we would never have tasted the
sweetness
of mercy.

The beautiful, aching desperation of trying to cling to the God that feels so far away. To the moment when we can touch his face.

If we didn't know failure, we wouldn't hunger for the day when we'll be clothed in righteousness.

If we didn't fall, we would never look up to see the scraggy cross above us. We would never have seen our God bleed for us. Bear for us. Love for us. Die for us.

If we had never been blind,

we wouldn't have seen.

This is the Great Story.

And all my if's die from my lips because
all I know
is that I was lost.

And he came.

He came
and opened my eyes.

There is nothing more beautiful than this. 

Finding glory

I am made of shadow.

Capable of doubt and belief, tears and song. Out of my mouth comes a joyful noise, and from my lips fall words of death. I build up, break down. Encourage, complain. Stumble, rise. Sit, dance. I wait, I leap forward. Kiss, and push away. Love, and hate. Speak truth, and deny. I am smitten and jealous. Oh how simple, predictable, and readable I am. Oh how complex I am, a puzzle. I'm sharp, observant. Oblivious, blind. I dream too high, too quick, soaring on clouds. Yet I give up hastily, faster than a pricked balloon. I express, hope, laugh. Lie, spit, cheat. My responses are frank, I answer with denial. A hypocrite, fully sincere.

Light and darkness, interwoven. Dust breathed. Flickers on the wall. Crowned with glory, lower than the angels. Depraved, good.

Paradox at the surface,

but then again,

aren't we made of night?

Who is man?

That you would consider him. For we are fallen. Our history is a pool of blood, hatred, and even our acts of good are demented. We are such power, capable of falling so low. We are the definition of weakness. Our bones are lined with doubt, our blood flowing with evil and love.

We are fallen.

And when God makes us new? We will be more glorious than we can imagine.
More glorious,  

because of his glory shining in our eyes.