7.27.2014

sunday afternoon


things that have changed in the last two years: i've graduated from college, managed to convince some people i'm a real adult, and purchased a (real-adult) couch.
things that haven't changed in the last two years: i still fall asleep in movies, clean incessantly, and cherish the first sip of coffee above most things. 

and now that all five people who read this are caught up...
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i sit at my kitchen table, pen in hand, coffee in close proximity, journal open to a fresh page- the blank lines promising revelations and musings, promising to hold my smeared stories, smeared with tears, as i recount the moments i don’t want to lose. i begin writing with less of a purpose in mind and more of the sheer need to feel ink on paper, my hand etching its way across my own sort of wilderness. 

today i write about his love. HIS love. i try to explain it with words, descriptors that might minimally grasp this reality in my life. but, i've often found that words cannot envelop the wonder that is his love. they fall short. they're insufficient. and yet, i still try, because i appreciate how the combination of letters in a certain order can evoke such feeling and truth. writing is like a puzzle. how can i bind specific parts of this puzzle to communicate what i think, feel, and know? i know his love; i've experienced it beyond what i deserve, but words confine it. they hinder and limit its magnitude.

even still, his love is fierce and gentle, bold and sweet; it is unconquerable, unwavering, untiring; it is stubborn and persistent, always welcoming. it sustains me through the night and satisfies me every morning. his love penetrates every darkened crevice and overcomes my weaknesses. it is gracious and merciful beyond my comprehension. his love is selfless, sacrificial, and so undeserved. its foolishness has saved me.

so now, the pages of my journal are tear-stained. i've sat in his presence, in awe of who he is, and he is good.
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because of his love, i'm learning to live open-handedly. empowered by his love, i'm learning to live generously. i must confess that it's still hard for me to live this way. naturally, i want to keep these struggles to myself.

bear with me.
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oh, the glory of the savior's love
surrounding our surrender
to know forever we are welcomed home


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