When my heart is torn asunder
And my world just falls apart
Lord You put me back together
And lift me up to where You are
There is hope beyond the suffering
Joy beyond the tears
Peace in every tragedy
Love that conquers fear
I have found redemption in the blood of Christ
My body might be dying but I’ll always be alive
You have turned my mourning to dancing
You have covered me with grace
The struggle here may last a moment
But life with You will last always
When the age of death is over
And this world has been reborn
I’ll be there beside my Savior
This is our great and rich reward
My body might be dying but I’ll always be alive
“When I use the phrase, ‘the reckless love of God’, I’m not saying that God Himself is reckless. He’s not crazy. I am, however, saying that the way He loves, is in many regards, quite so. What I mean is this: He is utterly unconcerned with the consequences of His actions with regard to His own safety, comfort, and well-being. His love isn’t crafty or slick. It’s not cunning or shrewd. In fact, all things considered, it’s quite childlike, and might I even suggest, sometimes downright ridiculous. His love bankrupted heaven for you; for me. His love doesn’t consider Himself first. His love isn’t selfish or self-serving. He doesn’t wonder what He’ll gain or lose by putting Himself on the line. He simply puts Himself out there, on the off-chance that you and I might look back at Him and give Him that love in return. His love leaves the ninety-nine to find the one every single time.
“To many practical adults, that is a foolish concept. What if He loses the ninety-nine in finding the one? But finding that one lost sheep is and will always be supremely important.
“His love isn’t cautious. It’s a love that sends His own Son to die a gruesome death on the cross. There’s no plan B with the love of God. He gives His heart so completely, so preposterously, that if refused, we will think it irreparably broken. Yet He gives Himself away again and again, time and time again.
“Make no mistake, our sins do pain His heart. Seventy times seven is a lot of times to get your heart broken. Yet, He opens up and allows us back into His heart every single time.
“His love saw us when we hated Him, and when all logic said we will reject Him, He said, ‘I don’t care what it costs me. I will lay my life on the line as long as I get their hearts.’”
– Cory Asbury, on the Reckless Love of God
After days of anger and sorrow at the way things have been, I was encouraged by this thought: Nothing comes my way without first passing through the loving hands of the Father. My Lord had held the past year in the palm of His hands, considered it, and deemed it best for me that He let it happen. He, who promised that all things work out for the good of those who love Him. He, who refuses to let me be overwhelmed beyond that which I am able to bear without a way out. He, who as He cradled the past year in His hands, looked up at me with love in His glistening eyes and whispered that He knows the plan He has for me, and that they are meant to usher in hopeful days and a future. I may not see it, nor does it feel like it, but He knows. He knows that they will. That all that seems to harm will someday serve to prosper.
With the cry of a desperate man I find my way before the loving Father who listens with tenderness and grace. His hand of mercy pulls me out of the dark.
At His feet I am finding everything that I am.
“It only matters till the point of forgiveness.”
When we’ve given up on better days, and there are memories we can’t erase.
When we’ve come to fear what we can’t explain, and there’s nothing here that can ease the pain.
Lay it all down. Lay it all down, at the feet of Jesus.
At the feet of Jesus.
I don’t write much here these days. Or at least not as much as I would like to. I blame in part the books that I’ve been given to lately. Letters and biographies that inspire little for writing to a general audience. Perhaps with the publication of A Country of My Own I’ve never stopped feeling like I’ve exhausted the patience of others with the vapidity of my thoughts. Circumspection marks much of my writing these days, at least on this page. That’s a sad thing to ponder. Words ought to be sincere, and I find little sincerity in writing anything worth your time that does not encourage you in some way. But life’s lessons of late have been birth from a battered heart, and I do not wish to burden you with that. Though I know it’s my way of avoiding a sorrow so deep that knows little of expressing.
And so I try to write something about the beauty of God. I like to believe I try to. But any attempt soon finds a literary cul-de-sac. The sentences refuse to form into anything meaningful. For of a life in God that washes upon the shores of perception, there is no image or shape. Nothing for the thinking mind’s comprehending grip. Words cannot express it, yet no tongue has sullied it. It all means more than I can tell you. So you must not judge what I know by what I find words for.
Most of my heart’s impressions no longer surmount the inconvenience of leaving the safety of my journal. But I would like to write here again. There is great joy in the thought.