At the center of The Story is a paradox that cuts and heals simultaneously. It is the collision of justice and mercy, where pain meets pleasure, and shame becomes glory. Throughout the Scriptures is a tension of a called-out people of faith, who are living with doubt. And a God who is described as both the Holy Terror and the Abba Father. And a Son who is both fully God and fully human. And a Spirit who brings comfort and conviction to my heart that is both screaming and silent.
This God is absent and present. He is hanging on an beautiful execution stake, mocking the mockers, destroying destruction, and killing death.
And it is no wonder that I am learning to rest in the paradox of holding on and letting go. "Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief."
I love you. I don't love you.
I believe you. I doubt you.
I surrender. I keep fighting.
I'm swimming. I'm sinking.
I'm living. I'm dying.
I'm squeezing with my hands open.
I am burying my mustard seed in the soil of insecurity. I'm singing of the Resurrection and the Life, while wearing sackcloth and ashes and grieving the death of my hope. I am starting a new chapter and it begins with I don't know.