I think it started when my young, single mom took my sister and me to Maple Lane United Methodist Church in South Bend, Indiana. I remember the blue-green padded pews and Mrs. Kovach playing the organ. And in little, important ways I began to hunger for God.
Eventually we moved to the suburbs of Chicago. The quaint little Methodist church was exchanged for the contemporary, exhilarating mega church, Willow Creek. And my hunger to know God rekindled. There was Bill Hybels preaching his heart out and drama and music and people who gently directed me into the relationship that simultaneously satiated and whetted my appetite for Him.
Well, nothing on the outside actually changed. But, in reality- on the inside- everything changed.
From those days until now, I am His.
It doesn’t always look that way. I often look like a whiny, bratty child, resisting Him relentlessly. Maybe I embarrass Him. But, through it all, He claims me. Honestly, my mind cannot grasp it. It’s unfathomable that He fiercely set His face toward the cross and poured out His blood to make me His.
So this is what I mean by the good life. I endure hard stuff. And my days overflow with what seems unimportant and trivial.
But the good life means that in and out and through it all I’m convinced that I am wholly loved. Every nook and cranny of my soul is brimming with His staggering love for me. I don’t always remember it. I usually don’t feel it. But I know it.
So, even in my darkest moments, deep, deep in the very pit of my soul I am unshaken. His love grounds me.
And it powers me. I am His. Purpose radiates! Through every mundane moment. Cleaning the bathroom. Folding laundry. Trying a new recipe. Playing games with the kids. Sitting on the couch with my husband. It’s all fraught with meaning.
There are sparkles of grace everywhere. May I have eyes to see and celebrate them. The stack of dirty dishes in the sink is a clear testimony that we have food. Books and toys and clothes strewn around the house are proof that our lives are abundant. Even the sound of arguing kids is a reminder that my kids are still home with me, and we are working out how to live in relationship with other humans.
Not to mention the brilliant shimmers of face-value grace. Like the smell and sound of rain with the windows open. Laughter. Holding a cup of hot coffee on a snowy day. Crackling fireplaces. Friends.
I invite you to join the journey! We can uncover glints of grace together as we live regular life through the lens of being completely loved.