Thinking about how small we are

I realized at Prayer Group this morning that I am uncomfortable with how infinite God is, because I really don’t understand him.

It feels like a sickly sweet soda to think of how infinitely overwhelming and faithful he is to those who love him and his truth. In my humanity, it makes no sense that I have nothing to add to him. I have noticed lately that I had been drifting some this past week, because I had been bothered by thinking about status instead of serving, and worrying too much about vanity (simply unhelpful). Part of my reservations in embracing the fullness and purity of God that I feel is set before me is not being able to understand that he is that perfectly good just as a facet of who he is. Out of scarcity and like a mom trying to save the best portion for her children, I try to distance from God so he has more blessing “to go around”. But there is no scarcity in him. And it’s neither about or up to me.

It would be pretty excellent if he blessed the ones I love more than me, because he’s blessed me a lot. More blessing for others would clearly be welcome to me. But the idea that he would keep improving my life and continually give me more than I could ask for seems either made up or like a dream. I’m living it, but why? Nothing I could ever do would ever measure up. I couldn’t even slightly deserve it if I was the best anyone could ever be. But he still blesses me. He loves me with the same love he had at first. I don’t always understand why. But he does.

I don’t even always give him my time. I don’t even always give my firstfruits, or my patience, or even honesty. Sometimes I hide. Sometimes I resist reading the word because for a week or two I’m convinced I don’t need it. Sometimes I speak before I ask. I do that a lot.

He still loves me just the same. He never thinks less of me. He always supports me. Never casts me out. Never makes me feel unwelcome. Always listens. Always understands.

I have nothing I can give to him, but I may be forced to conclude that he must like it that way. My life isn’t worth much. Not like this. I didn’t even invest the life it took to reap interest on. The lives. All the dead who have died solely to glorify his name. I didnt have one part in that.

I still don’t get why he would want us, Humanity, but he does. Just because. He wants us for no anterior motives and for the looks of it, mainly to challenge and bless. He wants to share his peace and spirit with us. The greatest expression of any kind of love is that he could be my friend.

I have a question I need to pray over, you guys. Sometimes when I write, I feel closer to God than when I read his word. It’s not that I don’t like that, but it feels more like conviction, like a reminder. Writing feels more new, more passionate, and more alive. I know scripture is living to, but here I have the place to consider it. Those are the emerging ends of a careful string of events that will futher intertwine into callings, you mark my words. Something about the balance between new and old traditions, and negotiating how to praise in between all that. Like plucking out gray hairs on an otherwise darker backdrop, those are things to earmark and pay attention to for later. I feel like a lot more life is coming, and now is my chance to take time to understand it. I don’t yet, but we’ll keep on walking. Eventually he’ll make things more clear. I’m just hoping for more pure interests and a heart that cares less about status and more about God. I’m ready for Sunday.


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I am a teacher-to-be who loves people. I am not afraid of many things. I like to explain my thoughts logically on a very birds-eye view level--I was born thinking that way. I follow Jesus Christ, and I accept only that label to describe my identity--that I am a child of God, as are infinite others, regardless of their other identities. Christ is my one thing.

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