I was driving home last night from a friends house thinking about life, the good and the bad, the situations that driven me to my knees and at times infuriated me to the point that I would rise shaking my fists at the heavens with the empty question of, "Why," stinging on my lips, for I see only a sliver of the story and when I stare at the sliver it makes no sense.

This faith that doesn't make sense, this deep furious love, and this wild, raging God who refuses to climb into my safe little box that I long to squish Him into...it all scares me at times.

This idea that God is working everything together for the good of those who love Him seems so maddeningly impossible when I absorb the shadowy horrors that run rampant in me and all around me. When I look at the world through my foggy mortal eyes, despair finds cracks in my heart to cling to. Scales at times have climbed and threatened to cover my eyes and my soul entirely and in those times the curtain seems so thick that sometimes it threatens to smother me.

What can I do? I am not a person with a wide influence, for I am small and the world is large. What chance do I have of making any kind of difference--why try?

So I run, sprinting back to Truth. I run, tripping over my own two feet out of the shadowy darkness, back to the stories that begin to send light filtering through the cracks between the scales that have crept over my eyes.

For my Jesus doesn't care about how wide my influence is, how much money I make or don't make. He loves me just as I and not as I should be. And if it means that I get to see Him smile I will I toss my last two mites of life into the treasury over and over and over again.

And as Andrew Peterson put it, I will run back to the old roads. When storm clouds sweep in, I will lash my heart to strong ancient mast that has weathered the worst storms. And I will walk that ancient path that has been worn smooth by many pilgrims, for I know it leads the way home.