Sometimes the world looks so broken I think it’s a wonder we don’t bleed to death through all the cuts we get from its sharp edges.

Especially the ones we don’t even know about.

Bits of broken lives and jagged people and ugly choices and I just can’t comprehend it. I can’t fathom how He did it. How He willingly came to us. Came to be one of us. Because He knew even more than I do tonight. He knew more than just the kaleidoscope glimpse of the cracks in the earth that we call home. He knew the whole of it.

I get a glimpse and want to hang my head and just give up. The desperate, global poverty, the loss of bright, shining people, the standoffs over faith, the streets jammed with misunderstanding and distrust.

I feel small and scarred and my fingers limp along the edges of this keyboard trying to find the right way to reach out, to hug, to love when we are afraid of hurting more, of being lost in translation and misunderstood.

So much bleeding in this world. So much self medicating with ourselves. Our own wants and needs and demands. Our points of view. Our prejudices. Our arguments. What I see is what I know I am. My DNA rotten and angry and in a state of rebellion worthy of a flood.

Why did He come?

How could He bear us?

Small wonder the whole earth groans under the weight of what we are. I feel the dirt in my bones and wonder that He can stand to look at us.

And then I come home. And this is how they look at me.

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I don’t deserve it.

But there it is, nonetheless.

Grace.

Love.

Redemption.

No matter how broken your world. No matter how bloody your life. This is how He sees us. Through the eyes of His Son. And it doesn’t make sense. And I hold onto it with both hands.

Because my life depends on it.

 

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