The best I can do is to ‘pretend’ that I’m my own god. But in the pretending I have to pretend that I’m not pretending, and somehow that doesn’t sound very god-like to me.

Our prayers are something akin to delivering a list, verses surrendering a life. The former will always leave me creating the next list, while the latter will leave me creating a new life.

Who in the world would walk into the very things that we created in order to save us from what we created by dying right in the middle of what we created? God did it by creating something called Christmas.

The greatest rescue mission is to rescue ourselves from the belief that we don’t need to be rescued.

Maybe what I need to be rescued from is the feeling that I don’t need to be rescued, for without a doubt this is the most difficult rescue of all.

In one way or another, every mission that I have ever set out on to rescue myself is yet another mission that I end up needing to be rescued from. Hence, there is God.

Words can be honed to crafted perfection by the finest wordsmiths. Yet, if we trust solely in the expanse of them to explain this God of ours or articulate our experience of Him, we will have brutally destroyed the very things we are attempting to explain. And if I should do that, no words can describe how badly I wish I had no words.

Oh that I would commit to the things that would demand everything of me instead of committing to those things of which I demand everything. For it is the commitment that drains me of everything that is, in fact, the commitment that grants me all things.

God holds every tear in the hallow of His hand, and each one that we shed is intermingled with a thousand of His own. And someday He will welcome us home, draw us deep into His embrace and let the tears of both spill on the floor, never to be collected again.