Can I say something honest to you?
I grew up in a world that talked a lot about God — a lot — and I’m not always comfortable with the things that world taught me about him.
Tonight, though, as I walk the streets on this darkest night of the year, I stop in front of a plywood manger scene in someone’s front yard. And I suddenly realize I’m grateful — so, so very grateful — for one thing:
I’m grateful that the God of my childhood was so physical, and so human…
A God in the shape of an infant, thrashing and crying in the straw.
A God who wept actual tears. Who bruised and bled and broke.
A God who tells me that the divine can, in fact, dwell in this place:
… this hardscrabble earth.
… this fast-fading skin.
I turn my hand over.
I trace the river-blue veins in the wrist.
I think about the spirit that flows through that living water, and I can’t help but say:
Oh, God … It is good. ❤