The Only Story There Ever Was

globe pic

My heart has been drawn back to the beginning of the story lately...

There is something there, something to grab tight too and tuck deep inside my soul. It feels a little bit like a love letter written by the hand of creation...for me...

for us.

The heart of God is spilled out over the formless void, and just like Every moment of God's creative story is about life coming forth. I never noticed the tenderness before, but I hear it...I see it now.

He forms with us in mind.

I see that his heart was drawn to us first, before he molded the Earth, that he molded the Earth because of us. I think I thought, once, that he formed the Earth just for himself and then threw me and you on it,

as if we were just meant to be caretakers, not shareholders.

When the broken heart is finally healed, everything looks different. It's as if he sits beside my bed like a mother reading the bedtime story. I raise my hand constantly, full of questions. He answers...softly, patiently, every question...and my heart claps and giggles like the little girl listening in.

Do you know the power of discovering that the story is meant for you?

The flinging of the stars, the carving of the canyons, the painting of the flower...could it be that the story really is a love story? Could it be that I was created at the end because the Creator was preparing a place for me first?

Was he gift wrapping creation to present to the one He would treasure the most?

I see that in the story now, and it changes everything for me. He wasn't just flexing his creative muscle, his almighty power. He was painting a picture...forming a world where I could take pleasure in his glory. The beginning of the story is really the whole story. Him. Me. You.  Laughing together, exploring together...just being together. That's it...that's the unfolding truth. He did it all for that reason.

So we could be together.

Indeed, it is a love story. I really am seeing the heart of God poured out over this empty, formless world as I turn the pages. And my heart pours itself out as well because he whispers as I read, words that I didn't hear before, that I couldn't hear...

"For you..."

All done for me, for you. The story began with love...and the story hasn't shifted. The story hasn't changed since that moment when God's heart was broken before his two treasures, covered in their own shame. Love clothed them, love disciplined them...

love promised a way.

Love has never meant to me what it means to me now. I didn't see love, really, for many years. I only saw selfish greed. I only saw manipulation and deceit. And I saw Him that way too. I looked for the hidden truth in the story. As if there must be more to it than simple love. No one loves like that, I thought.

Not even Him.

You know what that thing is I tuck deep in my soul, that piece of the story that changes me? It's the realization that God knows what it is to offer love and have it trampled. He knows the depths of brokenness and he has known it since that day,

since the beginning.

My heart can find a home in him, because he knows. He knows the sorrow of offering all of yourself and having it rejected, trampled, treated with mistrust and abuse. He knows brokenhearted even better than I...and I can trust him with the pieces.

The beginning of the story, it really is the whole story.

Love came down, love spilled out over the surface of the void, and life came bursting forth. Love came searching when shame snatched us up and hid us away.

And love found us.

Love found us, then, and when it found us, all the pieces laid there between us...broken. Love didn't walk away, though. Love had linked itself to us with those words...

"In his image.."

We had been made one with him...and He was not giving us up. He made a way to keep us together, he carved the way out with his own blood, sweat and tears, with his own heart. This story, it isn't a struggle for power at all.

It's a love story...the only love story.

And it binds me to Him. He has journeyed with us, from the beginning, always there. Even in his own sorrow, his own suffering, even when his own heart was broken...

He never left.

I need this story. My life centers around this story. Jesus, he is the crescendo, the final moment, the exhale of God's broken heart. He finishes the work of bringing my broken pieces back to God, of bringing us back together. I think, on that day, when the new comes down to rest on this old, worn out world, there will only really be one reason we rejoice, one reason we celebrate. It will be because finally, at long last, after all the toil and despair and sorrow and tears...we are home, with him...together...

As he always meant for us to be...



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