Unmerciful Servant, There Will Be Weeping.

Why are you surprised at this, as if something strange is happening to you?

Of course. Of course the Enemy attacks our relationships. Of course he rips apart the sinews of the Body. Of course he snaps the tendons, tears the ligaments, shatters the bones. Of course.

He heard, too, that day God said It is not good for man to be alone. It is the day loneliness became a weapon, isolation a tactic of torture.

And we accept it so willingly. Blame, embitter, hate. Withdraw, retreat, run away. Flinging away our antidotes--forgiveness, mercy, love--far from our sob-wracked hearts.

We'd rather lay down and bleed. We'd rather curl up and die.

If you could hear these words spoken in my heart's voice, they'd be screaming. Dear brothers, dear sisters, have we fallen so far? We claim to follow the Perfect One, the Flawless, the Beautiful, who said of those who crushed Him, Forgive them, for they know not what they do--and yet, we will not fight for our brothers, our sisters? Because of a mistake, because of a sin? Because of our pride, because of our laziness?

We blame our inability to love on the other. I cannot love him, I cannot love her, because they did, they didn't do.

But it is our flaw, Beloved. It is we who refuse to love.

May God have mercy on us.

(Re)Genesis.

These are the times. When the loneliness stretches--the most profound silence. Stripped down to the ugliest fragments of me. I don't--I don't want to find myself here. I don't want You--(please, anyone but You)--to find me, either. Not here. The guilt and shame like black tar smeared across my unmasked face, my head-hairs--(You once so lovingly counted)--matted with filth. I want to tear--tear them from the roots, fling their strangled bodies--far away from me. Farther still, from You.

Yet.

At the mere whisper of my name, the dam (those long years in the dark, I so carefully, painstakingly, built, so they--so You--could never find, could never see)--shatters, the river of my heart-cry rushing out in a torrent, rushing (spinning, speeding, soaring)--into the ocean of You. This Voice that birthed the universe--(let there be)--in a kaleidoscope of color and light and--vibrations, the heartbeat of the stars--humming in tune, and I cry--I cry with them Glory. 

And You answer: Love, Be.

Dumpster Diving.

The phrase is found in John's account of the feeding of the five thousand, a few simple words spoken by Jesus that are easily overlooked: Let nothing be wasted (John 6:12).

We look with shame at the mistakes of our past, crumple the memories in our hands like a letter for which we could not find the right words, toss it into the trash heap and hope no one goes looking. But the words continue to haunt us, our flaws drawn before our eyes in hues of neon highlighter, and we try to ignore them, try to hide, try to run.

Until we hear God digging through our trash. Our heart sinks at the sound, and we come running. We tug desperately at His arm, pleading, Not that, God, I don't want anyone to see that. But He shakes His head and says, Let nothing be wasted.

He pulls out the scraps of rotting fish, the torn pieces of moldy bread. He turns toward us then, and lifts our tear-brimmed eyes to His own. And we are amazed, because His eyes are filled with love.

He says, Beloved. I have loved you and called you, and I am working all things together for your good. Even the mistakes. Even the pain. Even the sorrow. Why have you thrown it away? The Enemy intended it for evil, but I will make it good. Behold, all things have become new. Nothing will be wasted. Not a single moment. What you see as a meager portion, I am prepared to multiply. What you have in abundance, allow to overflow. I have not missed a single detail; I count every drop of oil that anoints the numbered strands of your hair. I know you, completely, and love you. 

I am not a God of waste, Beloved. So stop throwing yourself away.