You can no longer stand the heat of it.

“But who are you, a human being, to talk back to God? Shall

what is formed say to the one who formed it, 

‘Why did you make me like this?’”

Romans 9:20

Dear Me,

If you think one day you stop beating your head against the wall, you don't. 

You try to do this the human way even in the face of His way because it's so much easier to see others as worthy of forgiveness than to wrap your mind around the possibility of you being a person someone else is able to forgive.

But see, that's where you (and I) are wrong.

Your ego and ability to warp your sins into the world's kryptonite is a narcissistic bent on the truth–you never will ever stop God's ability to give love and grace and mercy to even the worst of sinners.

Even you.

That's what chases you through feeble attempts to write words and hating every ounce of this endeavor that smells so human to you. It's for God's glory, but what if you just take a little nibble for yourself?

I suppose that's where confession comes in. A barebones fingering of the lies we tell ourselves, now basking in the light. If we're honest, we desire all of this for ourselves because didn't Eve? And who are we if not Eve's children? 

But that's when the miraculous comes into play. Those feelings and longings are no longer expected nor accepted. They cast a worldly glow, one that makes you ill when you can no longer stand the heat of it.

Your Eve's child no more, friend. You are God's.  

And in absorbing that notion, there's that slight turn, that gorgeous arc against the human thing that always intends to bind you. You move away from what Eve birthed with her Adam–a delicious consequence to the bitter taste of one's own fruit.

But He knows, and He knew it, too, forever has always known. And He bears the marks of all that knowing, taking His bite and spitting the seeds.

And who are we, this little mound of flesh, to stop what's already been set into motion?

––––––––

Talk soon,

Ericka