His Love, My Heart

His love for me is pure, more forgiving than I've ever been towards anyone who has wounded me.

There are many ways, and many days, I fall short of the man He wants me to be...when I buy into the lie that I'm unable to love someone just because they don't love me.

His love is revolutionary. It knocks on the door of my heart when:

• I think my pastor is an asshat.
• when I choose porn over the Bible.
• stuffing my belly is more important than prayer.
• it's all about me and never about Him.
• the seasons of selfishness never change.
• I judge and judge those judging me.

When I look into the mirror, what I really don't want to see is my reflection in the cross. I don't want to see how much He loves me, how deeply He's ransomed my heart with His life, how He has replaced a heart of stone with a good heart.

He bore stripes for me. And when my heart cares about someone or something else, I can see a shadow of His deeper wounds on my flesh. And He knocks on the door of my heart, the heart He has redeemed. 'Is there room at the inn for me?'

There are many days, and many ways, I don't want to look at Him or look for Him. I'd rather say something cool on Facebook or wonder when the next e-mail will arrive. I'd much prefer resentment over forgiveness. I'll hide in the middle of life and throw stones when I think no one is looking. And I'll be afraid -- scared of being the man He created me to be.

Far too few are the days when I intentionally go out to walk with Him. I wake up whenever it pleases me. I can ignore suffering and call it surviving. Man, I'd rather be me than you. Sometimes I'm ashamed to be a man when I look at the men I know. Most of the time, because I'm afraid to look at Him, I'll look at the men I know and tell myself they are so much better than me. Or I'll hate them. Or I'll ignore them. He still takes time to knock on the door of my heart...

I don't tell enough people I love Him. I assume my singleness is seen as loneliness. He is the best friend I've ever had. His love for me is embarrassing in its depth, its intimacy, its strength, its endurance. There are many ways, and many days, I've heard His knocking on the door of my heart and turned away, pretended not to hear, turned up the music of my life and waited for Him to go away.

If I'm right, He loved me enough to die for me. If I'm wrong, He loved me enough to die for me. That will always make Him a better man than me. Sometimes I want to open the door and invite Him in, hoping He would stay, stay and not go, stay forever.

Because He loves me, He is knocking.