It shouldn’t be this difficult.
There’s an entire reality in my head, streaming in and out of dreams and daydreams, placing its wisdom discreetly in the corners of actual reality, then suddenly leaping up to slap me in the face with its beauty and wonder. I see water flowing above and around, streams of liquid love pouring into every piece, every part, every player in this fantastic drama called life.
If He’s pouring Himself so freely, if it’s so easy for me to see Him, why is it so hard for me to tell the world? Because I can’t just sit back and watch the world drown in His love while most of it covers its eyes and bemoans a parched soul.
I’ve tried writing, singing, speaking, even screaming. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t.
Somehow, it seems I’ve forgotten the key aspect of God, of Love: incomprehensibility. I can’t possibly fathom the depth, the beauty, the fullness, the utter awesomeness of Him; how could I ever expect through my own feeble speech, my own poor reasoning, to speak of Him?
Proclaiming the Gospel, fulfilling our calling as His disciples, means living by His love, letting His love do the talking; we’re simply the megaphones, if you will, megaphones in the hands of a loving God who uses us to shout at the people missing His still, small voice. We need to immerse ourselves, lose ourselves, drown ourselves in His infinite love, until it is “no longer I…but Christ who lives in me” (Galatians 2:20).
And that is certainly hard.
But if it means that even one soul will begin to see what I have come to see–that Christ is pouring out His love on the world in impossibly numerous ways, that each person is more beautiful than they could ever dare to imagine, that even our sufferings are gifts and give glory to God, that life itself has meaning too glorious to see yet–I’m in.