• It hit me that I'm falling in love. I'm falling in love with this Jewish hippie carpenter with a vision for peace and a penchant for healing. A man with a heart for people, a heart full of tears. A man that was a man, and a man that was God. Eyes like the ocean, like a magnet, like a flame. And I'm like a moth. The artist of all things, the quilt of stars flung into the indigo sky, the looming mountains, the delicate butterflies with wings that beat of freedom.

    I betray Him every day. I spit in His face with my selfishness and my conceit. I turn on Him, I lash Him, I hurt Him with my pride, my apathy, and my compromise. And yet He still loves me. Still holds me.

    God, God, I don't deserve Him.

    This man who forgives without regret, who loves passionately, hugely, irrationally, completely. The man who was and is God who loved so beyond Himself, so beyond the world, that he gave up His own breath, His own life. For the world who despised and rejected Him, turned on its maker. For the ones who nailed Him to the cross. For the mass murderers, the psychopaths, the schizophreniacs, the hobos. For Marilyn Manson, for Martin Luther, for me, for you.

    All my life centers around this man. This love. This untamable, unconditional love.

    I fall, and I flounder, and I stumble. I get caught in the net of self, the entanglements of the world. I'm far from perfect. I'm bruised, flawed, and infinately broken. I'm never enough.

    But He is.