entry twenty eight

ice cold glass in frozen mug. and it sits and warms to the room, neglected.

the sky is gray and heavy. as though it knows. knows what there is today.

or more, who there isn’t.

I look after her longing, longing to go too, longing to go back and could I? Go with her and into the wonder?

How have I lost it in the growing older, duller? How to see the world again through those eyes? To live in the wide-eyed wonder of a world that unwraps itself grandiose and larger-than-life, so otherworldly?  (Voskamp, 165)

and here we are, shuffling strong out of the Christmas season, survivors of the torn asunder gift paper and the Everest-piled-foods. and we are looking to spring. and newness.

and Easter.

We move from one tree- fresh and fragrant and nestled deep amongst the gifts- to another, dead, and boarded, and nailed, and bearing single Gift. Gift for all mankind.

and the cradle of Christ points arrowed nail to the cross of grace.

and today, today there just doesn’t seem to be enough strength to say what all there is to say.

So these words – these speak deep.

The world moans loud, but He hears your howl. The world smiles thin, but He touches the depths of your deep grief. The world moves on, but His love moves you. He takes the nails to take your pain and He runs liquid with you.

Take your broken heart, your shattered heart, and give thanks for the heart of God who bleeds with yours and this is how your broken, dis-membered heart is re-membered –when you remember to count the ways He lovesCount, like you’re taking your own pulse, like you’re determined to keep breathing.

Remember the one thousand ways the Scarred God’s loves you, give thanks for Him in the midst of an almost hell, and your dis-membered heart re-members.

And our God is not a God to merely believe, but to experience, not to only believe in, but be held by. A God who not only breaks for you but breaks with you, a God to not only have creeds about, but to have communion with, a God who not only dies for you, but who cries with you, the God who touches you and binds you and blesses you and heals you and re-members you because He let Himself be dismembered and He is the God we not only believe in— but we knowWe know – know beyond a shadow of doubt, death or despair.

He has touched our tears. He has cupped our broken hearts with His scars. He has whispered to the howl, “I know, I know. And I’ve come to begin the making of all things new.” We believe. Because we know. He knows our grief. We know His goodness. And the truth is – we don’t need an explanation from God like we need an experience of God.

And that is exactly what we get.

We get that experience of God when He stretches open His arms on that Cross and cries,

For you. For all your regrets and for all your impossibles, for all that will never be and for all that once was, for all that you can’t make right and for all that you got wrong, for your Judas failures and your Peter denials and your Lazarus griefs, I offer to take the nails, the sharp edge of everything, and offer you myself because I want you, to take you, you in your wild grief, you in your anger and your disappointment and your wounds and your not-yet-there, you, just as you are, not some improved version of you, but you – I came for you, to hold you, to carry you, to save you.”

The thanks, the yes — it could come like sweet relief.

The broken hearts — they could re-member.

The lament — it could be absorbed in love.

so I will rest in experiencing my God today instead of trying to understand all of the questions that the harshnesses and tragedies of this world have pummeled my senses senseless with.

to remember a dear friend, a brother to my brother, and one who could love and laugh and live like none other.

Missing you.

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