This Spirit, who breathed life into my bones, knows me so deeply that His knowing continually seeks me. His reckless love unashamedly collides with all that is in the way of who He made me to be, breaking off my self-preserving calcified crust and decimating my attempts to hold His love at arms length.
And like water that pushes aside mountains, His truth - implanted into my being before Time was birthed - surfaces from the deep; a creature of great age that breaks the waters like glass, bursting free and untamed.
I can attempt to avoid this inevitability. Bury it. Hide it. But the pursuit to silence that which has been set free is futile for again, He will run me down, chasing me with abandon, finding me and closetting me in His depths, releasing his soothing balm of Grace until I am floating in a sea of Redemption.
Oh, what sweet love is this: that the Maker of Time would waste so much of it on one who would strain at the boundaries of His love, thinking I am too far gone to receive it, flinching at True Love's touch.
Yet marred by the devestation of this earthly realm, untrusting and broken, I push away and inexplicably, He reaches again, washes again, fills again, restores again, forgives again, loves again, heals again, over and over and over and over... never sighing with exasperation or growling in frustration; never pulling me on a lead but gently coaxing me out of my malaise, knowing the final and beautiful outcome, never impatient to fulfil His plans.
And it's like discovering I've been holding my breath and not realising until I let it out. As I emerge from the waters that have drowned me in the bowels of my own dark seas.
In the moment when the Sun touches my soul and I relent, letting him heal my barren heart, setting it to beating again, igniting new life in what seemed surely to have died.
This is Grace: when finally I stop fighting and let His breath fill me, breaking out from under the seas of my past and taking hold of His gift.
I write despite trying not to. I cry and bleed and laugh into the page. What you see is what you get.