Mess

I feel like a child playing in the mud. I feel like a child drawing outside the lines with crayons and colors I'm seeing for the first time. I feel like a child who scraped his knee because he noticed something shiny in the distance, ran at it curiously, but lost his footing and fell. I’m a child who reached for the fire, mesmerized by it, and now there are tears running down my face. I thought I was doing everything right, and somehow by some certain turn of events and naive choices I made, I am a crying, dirty, mess.

He may not catch me when I fall. He'll let me trip over myself just enough to learn from it and be humbled, but He'll never be far enough away to leave me behind.

All that’s desired is a relationship. 

And He comes and picks me up to place me on His shoulders. With a damp towel He washes my face, bandages my knee, and runs my seared hand under cool water. Then He picks up my coloring page and places it on the refrigerator to display it. And somehow, He's proud of it.

All I can offer is the mess that I am — nothing more, nothing less. I bring no benefit to Him, not even my commitment, and yet somehow my heart and well-being are constantly at the forefront of His mind. I am constantly pursued and loved by the One I can offer nothing to in return.

This is true love. And I know I will have lived a full life if I can reflect that kind of love even in the slightest to those around me.