Stronger

       I would like to think I am a strong person.
      Yes, my life experience has amounted to twenty-two years of blessing, growing up in a loving home, taught to follow and love the Lord and choosing Him for myself fifteen years after my birth.  My heart has not been ravaged by the horrors of life, as so many have.  I grieve with those who have, but I cannot say that that has been a part of my own story.
      My own loss has had to do with a sense of identity, growing up with the constancy of goodbyes being my childhood, and later adulthood, companion.  Rootlessness has trailed me, as I wander through life living out of a suitcase and with the constant awareness of impending change.  My struggles has been one of finding identity and roots when everything in me screams to continue aimlessly wandering and just shift who I am to fit where I go.  I still wrestle as I strive to find my identity in Christ and put my roots down deep into Him, because it is He who has redeemed me and made His home in me so I can have a home in Him.
     My struggle has been one of learning to love with vulnerability, and wholeheartedly, as Christ loves, though my wanderer's heart cannot bear to love for fear of loss once again.  I am sure all of us are on a similar journey, learning to love even though love can bring so much heartache.  Wasn't it God's love that taught us the meaning of true love? A love that fought and pursued even when those He loved dragged Him through the streets of Jerusalem with a cross on His torn-up back and then nailed Him to that same cross, laughing as He struggled for breath to fill His aching lungs.
     I look to His love and can't help but want to cry, that He would do such a thing for me, love me in such a way.  He loved me even when I returned His love with hatred.  He loved me even when I cried out for His death.  He loved me when I taunted Him in His hour of distress.  He loves me still when I go about life as though He is not important to me.  He loves me still when I do not love Him back as I should, and I do this, yes.  I say, "I love you, Jesus," and then I just go about life, uttering a quick prayer, reading my Bible religiously and ignoring the fact that love isn't obligation but relationship.
      Yes, He loves me still.
      Even when I like to pretend that I am perfectly strong on my own, holding on to all sense of control as I try to make sense of life when it doesn't go the way I had planned, when I try to make sense of love that hurts, when I try to make sense of the chaos ravaging our world because of our own selfish ambition.
      I would like to think that I am a strong person.
      But then I realize that I really am not.  I am the one who would take everything that aches and wrap it all up inside my heart, vowing to never love because I am afraid--afraid of loss, afraid of hurt, afraid of rejection.
     I would like to think that I am a strong person.
     But when I find that I am not, I look to Him, and I know He is stronger.  His love endured the cross.  His love pursues relentlessly and does not quake in the presence of loss, hurt, or rejection, but withstands them all and continues to pour out without fail.
     So I look to His love, and in His love, I find that His presence in me enables me to love.
     So, I admit, I am not a strong person, but He is strong.
     And His love for me gives me the strength to love.  So each time I feel my weak little knees buckling, I'll draw on His love--His powerful, faithful, unending love.