Questions of Faith crop up every now and again in my mind and heart like fluttering butterflies.
Some of them are labelled "Guilt" and some are labelled "Freedom"
Choosing a butterfly to have land on ones hand is difficult for more often than not, it's the beautiful alluring "Guilt" ones that bring more pleasure than can be merited.
I put him there that day on that stripped tree on golgatha. Me! With my petty lies, white and black, my arrogance, my liberty, my pride and my greed. I put him there with all the force of my being.
And you know what?
He keeps on saying "It's okay! It's okay! I still love you anyway"
Who can fathom a love like that? Can anyone? Not me! Least of all me.
My unbelief lies in shredded piles upon the floor of my soul. I bury myself in it like a rat in its nest. I do not believe that I could be so loved and so I choose to wrestle with the paper shreddings of my Unbelief, chewing on them and mashing tjem between my teeth pretending its good to eat.
If only...if only I could SEE beyong my Unbelief and accept that which I believe 100 percent, unequivocally, unreservedly, wholistically? If only I could BE like Him and not need this shredded paper on the floor of my soul?