Rain

I have been known to miss very large, important things that are staring me in the face. You know, the stererotypical trouble of looking for your glasses while they're sitting on your head. This time, though, I really did it. I missed Jesus.

Because the cross of Christ really does apply to me. I really cannot screw up beyond the reach of it. My failure cannot exhaust it's mercy. And that really does make a difference. Or at least I think it's finally beginning to.

A year ago I moved back home to Atlanta to start over. And over. And over. My intention was to admit defeat, ask for forgiveness, and return to the church family that loved me so well as a kid.
Instead most of this year has been like running uphill in a hamster cage, leaving me, as one might presume, frustrated and tired.

All of this while my glasses were sitting on my head.

Apparently it takes quite a jerk to wake me up. But that's fine because Jaci and Sean took care of that by scheming to put me on as many roller coasters as possible last weekend. That's right, the last fear that I was supposed to face during Lent was rollercoasters, and now it is done. The three of us, after I threw a very immature fit of rage involving a Boston creme donunt, drove to Sixflags and rode the Batman, the Georgia Cyclone, the Superman, and the Goliath. The Goliath we rode three times in a row until I threw up, a moment of passage that now ranks among my favorites. I also believe this is when my glasses started to fall off my head.

This week was Goldrush, a student lead retreat for middle and high school students that I think got started about ten years ago, when I was a freshman. I had been in rehearsals with students doing the dramas each night and this week simply showed up to pray with them and watch them do their thing--which turned out to be quite a gift, because, as these things usually go, God's grace was more in charge than our talents were. The theme for the week was God is Greater Than...
Greater than the suffering in the world
Greater than the suffering in our communities
Greater than the sin in you and me that makes us feel small and helpless

Every night I got to see precious people that I left behind when I moved away seven years ago.
Every night these students were being hilarious and crazy, but also wise and courageous. My head started to itch where the glasses were sitting.

Thursday night these same students got together and prayed--for each other, for their communities, and without knowing it, I think they must have prayed for me. Later that night I talked with a dear friend about forgiveness, and on Friday, after watching a movie called Bella, which I now highly recommend, Jesus tapped me on the shoulder.

I sat and read through the crucifixion account and the resurrection, and how Jesus met Peter on the beach with breakfast, giving him a fresh start after several days of what must have been living hell. And I wanted to have breakfast, too.
Enter foot washing, silence, and peace.

Do you love me?
Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.
Do you love me?
Yes, Lord, you know that I love you.
Do you love me?
Yes, Lord, you know all things. You know that I love you.

And I love you, too.
You don't need to quit. You just need to start over.
Don't forget your glasses. They're right here. On top of your head.

"Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering, yet we considered him punished by God, stricken by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed."

Rain has fallen steadily all day, and my soul is beginning to feel clean and roomy again.

Oh love wash over a multitude of things. Jesus save us from a multitude of things. There is a love, there is a hope, there is a healing that always prevails. --Sarah Groves