— Miroslav Volf, Free of Charge: Giving and Forgiving in a Culture Stripped of Grace (via larrylin)
My two year old charge has trouble trusting me to take care of her.
A few minutes before noon, I usually get started on making lunch, and about that time she starts to break down
"I’m hungry," she tells me as I get bread from the pantry. I nod and tell her I know and that lunch will be ready any minute. "I’m huuuungry," she whines, following close behind me, sometimes bumping clumsily into my legs.
"I know, love. I’ll feed you," I tell her, and I make her a grilled cheese sandwich or a pb&j. She sobs as I cut her fruit into slices and screams as I pour her some water. My sweet little storm of a girl will ask her older brother to make her lunch, wailing loudly for her mom and dad or anyone else she can think of. Today I found her gnawing tearfully on a wrapped cereal bar she’d dug from the pantry, all salty and snotty and puffy-eyed, gasping between her sobs.
"Don’t you know that I love you?" I want to ask her. Sometimes I do ask that question, but I know it’s a sort of foolish thing to ask a toddler. "Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’ll let you go hungry?"
But then, don’t I do this too?
So often, I don’t come to the god of the universe in faith to make my request but I come kicking and screaming, convinced that I have to beat my tiny fists on his chest to be heard. I ask him as if he doesn’t want to feed me. I ask him as if he’s not a good father. And don’t I go to every other source, pleading and sobbing for my daily bread, even though my dad is standing in the kitchen and patiently making me a feast?
If I’m a good caretaker, how much more will our perfect father care for us? How much better?
"Don’t you know that I love you?" he asks me, but I’m too busy chewing on whatever I can find.
Right in the gut.
reflectorcz said: I always imagined God having a huge library filled with real stories from here that I have never heard before. I imagine that will be where I go most days in heaven, reading all the stories that I missed out on down here.:)
I also sometimes wonder if the stories we write are like mini-universes, and that God will bring them to life in a way that’s more real than we could ever have imagined.
hope-and-heartstrings said: Oh gosh, I think about that all the time. When I get to heaven, I want to run and interact with every animal that God has made. I have asthma and I can't run without it causing my lungs to shut down or be around animals without having severe allergic reactions. When I think about heaven, I dream of running and running and running and never losing my breath, and of being covered in wiggling puppies.
But I really love story. My heart sings for stories. I really want to meet each person from the Bible and listen to their first person accounts of each Bible story. Especially Paul. He’s pretty much my hero.
This makes me extremely happy. On both things.
One time, a mentor of mine asked me what questions I wanted to ask Jesus. He said his big question would be this: what hymn/song did Jesus and his disciples sing the night he would be betrayed? (c.f. Matthew 26:30)
When I get to heaven, I really want to invent instruments. That’s perhaps my dream job. Maybe not forever, but for a little while - learning the technology and psychology and kinesiology and whatever the future holds, and then putting things together and creating new ways of making music - something to please both man and God.
I also wonder if God will ask us to help him build universes - that he’ll bring together the physicists and scientists and artists and authors to make new universes where we can go and explore and experience new realities together.
What do you want to do in heaven?
Typing with my new Bluetooth keyboard! YAY!
What I respect most about God (as I understand him) is the freedom he has shown me. (Mind you, the humans in my world did not always show me that same freedom. But I truly believe God did). I see the rule-keeping lifestyle as a cage I was locked in. However, eventually, I began to realize the door was open. As I became an adult, I realized that what I believed and why I believed it was my choice. I didn’t have to accept everything that was told to me. If I doubted God existed, I could do that. If I thought he was a jerk, I could curse him out. If I hated church, I could leave. If I decided not to believe the bible was written by God, I had full freedom to do that.
I was never struck by lightning. I don’t think I was ever really punished, even. Now, because I have seen that freedom, I know God loves me.
I know this sounds a lot like ‘I know God loves me because I get to do whatever I want.’ But in a way, that’s exactly what it is, and that’s not bad. I’m not saying God is happy with all of my choices, I’m not saying I haven’t sinned and had to ask repentance. I’m not saying there aren’t freedoms that I’ve taken that I look back on and regret. I’m just saying I’ve stopped resenting God, because in leaving some of the things I thought he wanted me to do, I found out that he still loved me. He didn’t stop me from making my own choices, and he still helped me when I felt I made a mistake and ‘came back’ to him, so to speak."