Your Love, It’s Inside, It’s In Between
I just found something I wrote a few days ago — a written down prayer in one of my journals (I do that a lot, I process it better). I noticed that it ended with this: “Thank You for never leaving me and loving me outside of all of my silliness.”
The funny thing is that God doesn’t love outside of all my silliness — He loves me inside of it. Loving me “outside of” something strongly savors of loving me “in spite of” and that just doesn’t seem much like His style. This separated, disjointed love would imply that the me He loves is some perfect creature, without flaw, removed from all that makes me human and real. But I know that who He loves contains every shade of me, every stroke of black and white, and each delicate shade of charcoal and gray. His grace is what redeems me and what gathers me to my center. His grace is what allows Him to love all my nuances and shades.
He loves me inside my hopelessly romantic ways.
He loves me inside my impeccably, obsessively neat compulsions.
He loves me inside my inability to always love others the right ways.
He loves me inside second chances (and third chances and fourth chances).
He loves me inside my off-key singing on Sunday mornings.
He loves me inside my shelves of fiction that have nothing to do with theology.
He loves me inside my loneliness.
He loves me inside my contentment.
He loves me inside my motherly heart that explodes to care for others.
He loves me inside my cozy solitude.
He loves me inside my deep belly laughs, even when no one else is around.
He loves me inside my moods, when I am hot pink and when I am pale blue.
He loves me inside the first pancake that I always burn and in the blueberry stains on my fingertips.
He loves me inside the moments when I scoop Nutella out of the jar with my finger because no one is looking.
He loves me inside my constant struggle to love Him back.