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  • Writer's pictureCaroline

Boundless Love

Man says that your Word is no longer valid, that it has aged beyond its usefulness. They scorn its reproach as antiquated, a scheme against fun, against liberty. And yet as I pour through your words day in and day out, they speak to me of freedom from fear and shame. They remind me of my flaws, yes that is true, but they remind me that you do not define me by shortcomings but by the divine worth implanted in me at the conception of me, that took place in your mind as you wove me together in your plans of time.

In your word I see myself clearly. I see my sin and heartaches and yet I am not imprisoned by these things that the world would rather forget, but liberated by the recognition of them and the comprehension of where they came. The world tells me that I am okay as I am and that my sins are acceptable, but my spirit knows this to not be true; a restless calling towards something more than the world offers. And in you, your love letters to my soul, I find this connection of my heart to yours and I am brought to tears by the striking clarity that your words allow me to see the world in.

These words that my brothers and sisters in Christ around the world thirst for, who risk their lives for a page of honey that will reassure their wandering soul that home awaits. That the seeking will one day be over and that wholeness will be found in you. They seek you and hide you in their hearts where man cannot remove you. And I in my abundance hold the wholeness of your word in my hands, each page a piece to the puzzle of who I am, what I am designed for, and where I am going. A roadmap for my life, so generously laid in my lap. And yet in my foolishness I have rejected your ways time and again, dazzled by the superficial glimmer of the world, and disappointed to find it lacks depth of understanding and a holistic view of life and the interconnectedness of spirit, earth, mankind, and eternity.

How can I remain silent, when your words have at times gently corrected me and other times with the swiftness of a judicious parent, set me abruptly straight, time and time again. I read the ancient stories of the Israelites and see how I am no different. A wanderer, a naively confident child thinking she is more wise than her experienced loving parent. There is nothing new under the sun. The landscape looks different, but the ways of man have not changed since the days of Eden.

My heart longs for the world to see, the mirror that with terrifying precision reveals our hearts and the murk that resides. It is not for self loathing but for the pursuit of clarity, of understanding. In seeing my capacity for ugliness, I am enamored by you, that you saw this before I was capable and loved me still. How great a love it must be to see the depths of darkness I am capable of and have visited from time to time, and yet love me so much that you would spread your arms wide on Calvary and say, "this much". This much, as far as the east is from the west, you have blotted out my transgressions from the book of life, and covered them with your boundless love.

In the quiet hours you find me. You speak to me, and remind me of my worth, of the brevity of this life that is sometimes painful and sometimes glorious. Give me a love that knows I can be wicked and yet does not reject me, but tenderly corrects me. Give me a love that sees my stumbling and comes alongside me with provision and wisdom. Give me a love that when all the world does not see my hidden anguish, meets me in my hiding and wipes away hot tears of grief and mourning, reminding me that joy comes in the morning. Give me a love that knew me before breath entered my lungs and loved me with a ferocity that would hold nothing back. Give me a love that sees a beauty within me that is intrinsic, irreplicable. Give me a love that meets me in the morning and whispers strength and courage into my days.

You are the lover of my soul. When man comes and goes, accepts and rejects, you are the consistent pursuer, provider, sustainer, comforter, friend, and father.

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