I am loved enough to be allowed to hurt. I am loved enough that pain, suffering, and trials are allowed to enter into my story so I can be shaped into something better. I have tasted joy and I have tasted salty sorrow.

This is a world full of sunrises and sunsets, bright days and long dark nights. Babies are buried here, fathers never make it home, tragedy enters the scene, hearts are shattered, and we scream as pain carves scars into our souls.

I am alive, my heart pounds, my lungs take in breath and this means that while I see life, I will also see death. I will see the curse played out again and again and again. And when I see the curse: I will run. I will run hard and fast back to Truth, and I will lash my heart to the ancient mast and I will not give up.

I will live and pour out as much of my little life as I can. I will love to the best of my ability, I will hold onto hope, and I will grip with hands full of grief to the knowledge that this not the end of the story. I will run this race with vigor because I know that there is an end.

Pain, tragedy, and death will not have the final say. One day I will wake up across the shores of that river that we all must cross, my tears will be wiped away never to be seen again and everything that is ugly will have been burned away like the dross that it is.

Good is coming.

I don't care what any of you tell me. I am not home yet.

I want to fight the darkness in the world but sometimes to fight the darkness is to fight myself. I feel as though I am Eustace wrapped in a dragon's skin fearing the pain it will take to shed it.

There are times I wish for a safer God, one that isn't so unruly and unpredictable. A God that was less dangerous and more tame. A God less wild, less...box breaking. For I would tell a different story, I would weave a different tale. But then for a moment I catch a glimpse of Him in the blazing sunrise that burns away the morning mist and I remember, I remember that although I am a forgetful lover I am still loved. I remember Jesus. Jesus who wrapped himself into mortal flesh to save his Eve, who walked with dust covered feet, sawdust clinging to his beard, children caught up in his arms, and loving in a way the world had never seen before. And I remember that I am loved and that is enough for me.

People ask why I love words and the books that contain them so much. And this is why.... I love books because of the magic that are contained in and between the black marks within them. There is power in story. Stories have shaped and molded me into the person I am today. The countless books I bury my little nose into stay with me far longer than when I close the back cover.

Characters have taught me to value love, friendship, faith, courage and kindness. They've shown me there is more to life than obtaining wealth, power and selfish, greedy, cowardly, small souled individuals were not to be admired or emulated.

And while I've learned all this while flipping through pages, I have also had the time of my life...

I've buried my hands in Aslan's mane and heard the roar that broke winters back, I've passed through the emerald Shire, had my breath stolen away when I glimpsed Rivendell and Lothlorien, I've stood on the edge of a windowsill while Peter beckoned me to follow him to the second star to the right and straight on 'til morning, I have curled up in a little cabin listening to Pa tell stories in those big woods, I've stood on the edge of cliffs and stared across the Dark Sea of Darkness, I've frolicked in the meadows that surrounded Green Gables and fallen in love with Avonlea, I've laughingly given Christmas breakfast away with the March girls, I have sat on the back of a wild midnight colored stallion with my hands buried deep in his ebony mane racing the wind, I've passed through the dark misty land of Shiloh with pain in my heart, I have squeezed through a hundred cupboards fighting an ancient evil with Henry York, I've practiced my archery skills with the Merry Men and knew that I would follow Robin anywhere, I've sailed the high seas and seen the wild red hair of Fin button, climbed over mountains into the Heart of the Rockies, and been on a thousand other adventures.

Read. Books.

Hands that made the blind see and the lame walk also reached down to wash feet and wipe tears from a broken and used woman.

Arms overthrew tables and used a whip to drive out the ones who would have us believe that God's favor and love can be bought and earned. He flipped everything upside down while loving in a way that made the world stand still and watch.

The Creator stooped low and all of heaven leaned in closer.

He wrapped himself into our frail mortal flesh to save us from the battle we could never win and walked across this worn broken earth with dust on his sandaled feet, all the way to a violent death with arms open wide to rescue us and pay the price we never could.

Death will come but it will not have the final say, for my dear friends Redemption and Grace are the orders of the day.

It's all grace.
Every messy minute, every brushstroke, every crawling ant and every towering mountain, every glimmering firefly, every creaking elderly person and every giggling baby, every streaking tear and every glowing smile, every twinkling star, every song that is woven and every story that is spun, and maybe every breath that is inhaled and exhaled is all scandalous grace.