My heart hurts reading the blogs of kids I’ve spent years of my life with. Though they usually quit hanging with me when they move up into the youth group, they have left a permanent mark on the time line of my life.
I fear that many are moving into adulthood and when trials come the depth of their faith shows up only as a selection on a profile list along with their astrological sign or whether they like bacon on their cheeseburger.
What do I wish I could tell them? Deep in my soul I hunger for them to know that they are loved. Not a human love that is ripped away with an email or phone call that says “we’re finished,” but a love we can’t even understand. A love that doesn’t make sense. A no matter what you say or do or think, I’m gonna love you kind of love. A love that heals that sick-at-your-stomach, my heart has been ripped out and stepped on hurt.
Yes, they are loved by an all-knowing, all-present God who sent his son to earth for them. He lived and experienced every hurt, temptation and pain they are going through, and then he died. He died for them. He died for me. He died for us.
He’s not distant. He’s not imaginary. He’s real and He’s there, wherever they are. Wherever I am. Wherever we are.
If you haven’t met him yet, come see me. I’ll introduce you, because he spends a lot of time helping me. Forgiving me of my stupid sins and loving me no matter what dumb thing I’ve done….again.
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