into which angels long to look

I have spent a great deal of energy trying to surmise what God has not chosen to reveal to me. Not least of all, who I will marry [assuming that’s a thing that will happen], but also who I will be and where… what my life will feel like and what particular kinds of moments I will live through.

Meanwhile, all of heaven rejoices because finally they are privvy to the full goodness of God’s Plan. How He redeems is no longer a mystery. Who is this virgin and where is her child? We know. We have known. There is not a moment in my memory where I had not heard what angels in the realms of glory could not know for ages of what can only be described as time.

And the wildest thing on my mind lately is that I am ‘grafted in.’ I am a gentile so thoroughly entrenched in a legacy of at least knowing the name Jesus that I err on the side of pharisee rather than pagan. I am entirely prone to not partying for preference of The Right Way and The Rules.

I am so deeply adopted that it hardly occurs to me that this is not my [natural] birthright.

And still I struggle with what feels like unquenchable thirst.

Still I often feel forgotten and overlooked.

Still it sometimes takes the hook of an explicit rap song to get my attention and hear the truth that God loves me and is not expecting independent perfection.

It is through healing my american millennial stoic self-righteousness that God reveals the incredible wealth of His grace and kindness, and displays His wisdom in all its rich variety to the unseen rulers and authorities in the heavenly places.

Recently I am realizing how desperately I try to shed layers of my history as if perfection could be attained by unliving through the details God arranged.

Tonight it strikes me how available the best Mystery has become for sitting to stare at [let alone kneel before] and yet I choose to worry about small, unpromised tomorrows.

. . . & &

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