You know, this whole collection of my thoughts that you are about to read is all based on impulse, the tipping point of who I am now. This is the result of me feeling spent, irreparable to fire that once was in my bones, the overflow of my heart. I was once upon a time, a fictional character. I believed in God, I tried and I failed. And hence the grammatical life, contained within the rules, I was a bird, a so-called gift from heaven that couldn't fly, couldn't rise. While we're dwelling on this metaphor, I lost the found convenience of my natural ability to "fly." But no, I'm human and I'm not meant to soar, you're not meant to soar, they say. Who are they?
I loomed within the absence of my love for God, or at least its disappearance, I questioned his grace. Surely, it is beyond my thought, they reassured me, but how can man, mere man, accept grace if it is beyond what he knows? Then without question we must know grace and it must be tangible within the core of hearts, for it is the only way to God in heaven. The love of God that reaches beyond the expanse of the liveliness of man as he, the Son, lives in the constant of affectionate desire to have relationship with us. This is the very droplet of his love that merely ripples across the surface of its depth. But how then did I still fall short? Was this not incentive enough for me to finally come close to the worth that God seeks, the pleasure he so craves from me? No, it wasn't. If I wasn't even worthy to come close to their standards of association, then my distance from God was justified by the absolute of my "irreverence", they said. But they were in darkness.
Black and white, the very religion prominent in their hearts. No, there are shades of grey, I said, for religion is the mystery that is dormant within the minds and souls of all men. I grasped his grace, rather his grace grasped me, held me, never let me go. Still, some prodigy I was, I ignored the embrace and became the prodigal. Still he grasped me, held me, never let me go. And once more condemnation manifested itself, at least it tried to - it's a shade of grey. I never belonged in his house, really. My faith was based on fact driven by desire to please, desire to be loved. I searched for love, honestly I did, but found nothing. They said persevere, hold through and be strong through the clichéd seasons of dryness. But then where was I - was I lost in his arms, a mere child looking for a way out? The mere thought of effort, perseverance, searching blinded me to the efforts of God. Was I not already wrapped in his arms? They told me to persevere, the selfish focus for personal growth. What Christianity was I following? Is it not God who tells us that despite our efforts all men have fallen short from the glory of God? Is this not the majesty of his love, the mystery? Is this not the grandeur of his grace?
At the beginning I said I failed in believing in God. Its true, I failed. But from failure, only comes a greater need and desire to believe. For if I never failed I wouldn't need his grace. The love I searched for, was already here, physically existing in me as the very Spirit that embodies God's character on Earth. The grip of grace is not a pursuit of worth to be approved by God. The grip of grace is the consolidating embrace that binds us to God himself, that makes the action of pleasing God irrelevant. God loved me as much as possible then as now. But how? This is the inexplicable depth and size of his love. The very thought of effort and perseverance from my part was the sole thing that drove me to captivity, where I exist at this moment, writing this. They are blind. Humans can soar, repentant, gripped by grace. The very disappointment of the human essence of Christianity brings me closer to God, somehow. Knowing and not knowing that they, we, are yet to come close to understanding his love is unbelievable, indescribable - it is the true greatness of being a follower of Christ.
