boysenberry jam

They put Him in a jar. They compartmentalize Him, use weird words, tighten their ties, and pretend they have something to barter with. Needless to say, that jar isn't big enough. 

The clean wholesome obsession is in fact a detriment to all He stands for. Instead of sponsoring telethons He really would've been hanging out with the girl you call a skank. He loves that hot mess, He must, if He loves me. And He does, I can feel it, and it's the only part I love about the title. He loves me despite my sarcastic tones, the fact I always hit curbs, and dance by myself when no one is home. I have never had that lost feeling, I have never questioned my purpose, I have had moments of downtime, but He lifts me back up. He heals my heart.

It's like this secret that everyone knows exists but it's much cooler to say they don't care and they are fine with out him. I have never known that life, and while I don't discount that someone can indeed be happy, it's like knowing someone will always always always love you through the messes you create, and you can carry him in your pocket. In your heart. In your shoe. 

It's simple I am sure for some people to say He isn't real, to say it isn't possible. Sometimes I feel like a crazy person, but I know I get it. Once you try it there's no denying it. You feel Him in the wind, the rain, sunshine...and in the pain of things you can't explain. Contrary to popular belief He is nitty gritty, He doesn't have ad space on the 700 club, and He isn't bff with those crazies. He doesn't hold signs about the "awfulness" of your life choices... He would have coffee down the street and listen...and love you.  He loves you just the way you are. He loves me just the way I am...and that in and of itself is enough to make my heart full, and be enamored with His grace.