Of Love and Grace

Love’s crazy and amazing.

 

It’s past one o’clock in the morning. I’m writing, I’m thinking, I’m praying, I’m dreaming. I’m reading, I’m hoping, I’m feeling, believing.

 

Nights like these are good nights for me. Every so often I glance up from my journal and fix my gaze on my twinkle lights, my sky-blue walls, my slatted shades, my messy space – and I take a breath again.

 

I’ve never been in love. At least, not yet. Sure, I’ve had a few crushes here and there, like we all have had growing up, but there’s something about love that just captivates me, awakens my senses to something greater.

 

As I sit here on my bed, legs tucked gently under me, clad in an oversized sweatshirt, leggings, and hair such a mess…I’m honestly quite overwhelmed.

Because these nights, I truly have the chance to think about my life. At a time that’s so removed from my normal, fast-paced, coffee-drinking, paper-writing college life, I can truly process things like love.

 

My room’s tiny. Maybe that’s what I like about it so much; this vibe of intimacy that I get, even when it’s just me in here. One thing I do know is this: I feel close to God here.

 

My room is my sanctuary, the quiet space where I can feel free to have my lights on at one o’clock in the morning, just reading God’s Word, soaking it in, praying on paper with whatever words I feel I need to say. Because in this solitude, I feel this presence around me. I feel the love of God.

 

I’m well-aware that there’s an attic above me, but I like to pretend that there isn’t. That I’m at the top of my house, especially when it’s raining, and I can just see the drops pattering on the windows that surround my room; I feel the slight chill; I feel the solitude but I feel His presence and it’s so ridiculously great.

 

Because here? I’m a kid.

 

Regardless of my age, I’m a child of God, and I truly feel it right here.

 

With the freedom to be honest with my Father, to breathe as loudly as I like, to make faces, and cry when I don’t understand things, to journal, and write here, right here – I’m a kid. God’s kid. And I’m so inexplicably surrounded with love.

 

There’s a time and a place for discipline. Yes, sure, that’s true. But first, there’s a place for love. For what is discipline but fear-instilment if not done with love?

 

I feel the Spirit here, driving me to wake up the next morning, groggy and having overslept, but with passion for life. Not starting the day out bogged down with to-do lists and shame, but gifts, and hope, and grace.

 

For what is grace but love for every moment? Grace does not always speak. Grace is. Grace exists, quietly motioning to our shortcomings, but celebrating our freedom, forgiveness, and true life.

 

Love is crazy. Love is radical and amazing. And here, I say, I have experienced it.

 

I don’t need a dozen roses to feel what love is, though of course I wouldn’t object, either. But love is this action of God, poured out day after day, seeing my inadequacy but continuing to breathe hope into my life. Love says “I give you grace, even though I’ve seen you fail.”

 

Love is great. And it makes me want to just go DO SOMETHING.

 

When I sit here, fingers twisting my favorite pen, blinking awkwardly at the majesty and mercy I find in the Scriptures in front of me, I’m paralyzed. Because this truth, this love, this incredible, awe-inspiring hope makes me want to go out, to change the world.

 

But Jesus already has changed the world.

 

I’m caught in this mystery, of wanting to fix the brokenness but also knowing that the great work has already been done.

 

So what do I do with this? This beautiful love, this grace I’ve experienced, this hope that’s transforming the world?

 

I go tell somebody. For why would I keep my love to myself?