letting Him love me.

//Oh, and if you don't believe in God,
how can you believe in love?
When we're all just matter that will one day scatter,
when peaceful the world lays us down//
Peaceful, the World Lays Me Down; Noah & the Whale

Lately I've been thinking about how perfect God's love for us is. We screw up, He still loves us. We screw Him over, He still loves us. We kick and scream and curse and cry and still He gave His only Son (the only one) to die in our place. My place. For me. The same ugly sinner that wakes up angry, curses His children, screams and pleads and cries constantly, and yells at Him when I don't get what I want? For me. I find that incomprehensible. For me. He died for me.

I haven't ever felt love like that here on earth and so I really have no idea, but lately, ever so lately, I've had this beautiful inkling of what it's like on the supernatural insane spiritual Godlove sense. Which I am convinced is infinitely better than anything on earth. It brings me to tears. "His mercies are new every morning"...every morning? Every morning I wake up and tear into whomever is closest and yet from the instant my eyes open He has already renewed his unending love for me. For me. He loves me when I forget to brush my teeth and when I run out of clean underwear and when my hair sticks straight up and when I act funky. When I'm sad or mad or cranky or seriously angry or frustrated or immensely happy or doing okay or doing not so okay. His love is not dependent upon me or anything I may do.

His love is unconditional. It's hard to understand that, living in a world that is full of conditions. you can go out tonight--if you clean your room. You can live in that new apartment--if you pay the rent. You can be my friend--if you agree with me.

Yet all He asks for me to do is just let Him love me. All I have to do is let Him. Accept His love.

I started wearing my key again. Once upon a time, when I was about twelve, maybe thirteen, I found a really simple but cool old key and put it on a really simple but cool old chain and wore it, calling it the key to my heart. I would laugh to myself and wish I had a boyfriend (oh, how naiive I was), and say I'd give it to the boy that won me (why would I ever have wanted a boy to win me? I only need one and I don't need him till he's a man). Now suddenly I find myself wearing it again, because it is still the key to my heart but it belongs only to Him. Only.

Ready me, my Beloved. Make me without spot or wrinkle, ready to be your bride.

Well, I s'pose it's that time of year again.

The time where I run out of things to do and start telling people things they didn't want to know.

For example, today, I will proceed to tell you all about how impatient I am.

I want to grow up.
Move out of my parents house.
Get married.
Have kids.
Watch said kids grow up.
Move out of their parents house.
Get married.
Have kids.
Process repeats until I die.

(Insert here reminder to self that victims cannot worship and only a guilty culprit can but I still feel like ranting and raving)

I'm impatient for all of these things but I'm so far away from every one. I'm not anxious for any boy, but desperately desirous for all the things that society says come from one. no, not even all. I want to be: loved, held, reminded of God's truth, whispered to, smiled at, not alone? (though I'm not alone.)

(Insert here reminder to self that the Lord has already fulfilled every one of these wants but I still want them right here right now from a person I can touch see hold love kiss dream sleep night day tea for two afternoon right here right now)

I confess that I am afraid Jesus will come back to claim His Kingdom before I get any of this.

I am really really afraid of that.
("Only fear the Lord," says 1 Samuel)

But I am still anxious of it.
("Be anxious for nothing," says Phillipians)

Well, I'm troubled.
("Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid," says John)

Well is there nothing that I can be?
No. Trusting, yes. Patient, yes.

("But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control," says Galatians)

Ah! My flesh just wants to be jealous and impatient and afraid and anxious and troubled and pout until I get what I want.

("Now those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.," says Galatians.)


*headdesk*

"Music has charms to soothe the savage breast..."

"...to soften rocks, or bend a knotted oak."
William Congreve, The Mourning Bride

I went a little new music crazy today. And most of it wasn't even new. I'm very excited about it. And I won't tell you how many albums I downloaded because even guilt-free me is a bit guilty about it. But most of it was quite old or relatively so and I won't dwell on it. But I did I find a new love in Joan As Police Woman.

And why is it that the saying became, "charms to soothe the savage beast," when it was written, "breast?" That really doesn't make any sense. Maybe we just alter what we don't understand so as not to have to admit we do not understand whatever it is that we don't understand.

Maybe people are just afraid of being wrong. Being misconceived, misunderstood (oh Lord, please don't let me be misunderstood), mistaken for something they aren't (or maybe something they are but won't acknowledge), or less than equal to everyone else. Newsflash: we won't ever all be equal. We're only equal in our inadequacy. Sin, flesh, selfishness, etc. I'll never: have hair as shiny as, teeth as white as, skin as clear as, play as well as, joke, speak, laugh, or smile as lovely as, or exist as "wonderfully" as: anyone of you. And I'm sure you could all come up with your own list.

But you know what? It's okay. Because I only perceive myself to be inadequate. I was created exactly as was intended and to want any less or more is saying that He didn't really quite know what He was doing when He gave me 20/100?150?+? vision or blonde hair or the inability to develop upper arm strength.


Through Him, I am perfected.

i always had a blogger's heart

//well all I want is to just be free
to live my life like I want to be
well all I want is to just have fun
to live my life like it's just begun//
Pushin' Too Hard -- The Seeds

I just saw an ad that asked if perhaps my entire childhood was a hallucination.

Of course, it wasn't, but sometimes I feel like I live my life from dream to dream.



And I think I'm between dreams right now.

Let me, Irene

Let me, Irene
Irene, I ran to you
You never ran to me
Since then I don't know where you've been

Irene
Irene, I ran from you
You never ran from me
Since then you don't know where I've been

You didn't say goodbye,
But neither did I

Irene
Let me, Irene
Rent the room you left
Brown the walls became
They had been blue
I had been blue
For you they were brown

I ran, Irene
Let me, Irene
Let me,
Let me run