I love Abram.
I’m not in love with his potential.
I’m not in love with the idea of a better Abram.
I’m not in love with the thought of his future maturity.
I just love Abram, more than can be explained in words. Whether he is destroying the house or being a tiny gentleman.
I love him even when he pokes me in the eye with one of his toy dinosaurs and makes me go blind for a few moments.
I love him even when I have had barf, poop, pee and snot on my at the same time before 9 am.
I love him when he reaches for a hug and says “momma,” and I love him when I ask him to come to me and he defiantly says “nope.”
These are all obvious things.
Why, then, do we cheapen the gospel and God’s ferocious and unexplainable love for us by trying really hard to be better and avoiding God when we fail?
God doesn’t tolerate me in the hopes that one day I will put my big girl pants on and get my shit together.
He loves me, even though I am constantly putting my foot in my mouth.
He loves me, even though I verbally and mentally crucified someone two nights ago, and repented in devastation yesterday morning upon learning about that persons situation.
He loves me on the days that I wake up and everything is beautiful and bright.
He loves me on the days that I wake up and feel dark, angry and depressed for no explainable reason.
He loves me even though I can’t seem to be a better stuart with my money.
He loves me, even when he nudges my soul each day to come talk to him, and I respectfully decline.
He loves me when I have a day that I’m not worshiping my idols.
He loves when I go through several days of refusing to surrender my idols.
Every imperfection on my face- He loves me.
Every hair that falls out from stress- He loves me.
Every body part that I wish I had more or less of- He loves me.
When my sinuses are infected and I am in incredible pain- He loves me.
He loves me when I serve and encourage my husband humbly.
He loves me when I make our marriage all about me.
He loves me on the days that I am super mom.
He loves me even after I have completely failed at being a mother.
He loves me, even though I can be so terrified of the world that I can’t seem to unlock my front door and step out.
He loves me when courage abounds.
When I’m dealing with my past, and feel like I might die from my heart giving out on me- He loves me.
When my bones are being broken, one by one- He loves me.
As he sets them back together and wraps them up- He loves me.
He loves to watch me heal.
He loves to see the gospel transform my life.
He loves to receive the worship that comes out of this new and changing heart.
He loves me.