I asked a Friend a question the other day not sure of how He would answer,
and then I waited
and stayed still in wonder…
“Do You like me for me? Or do You just like me because of Jesus in me?
Cuz I really want you to like me! I mean you made me before I felt it,
that mysterious wind that swaddled me in hot breath of Holy sending a shiver up my neck, awakening my sense of touch in bumpy skin…
and then the barely whisper “you belong to Me,” when everything inside of me woke up ready; ripe for Love.
So I am new, yet I am me…
So how does that work, God?
Do you like the way I dance all silly in my kitchen? Or the way I scarcely can catch a breath of wind stolen by wonder when scorched leaves of red join in a lyrical of praise as they tap dance around my feet on an autumn morn?
Do you laugh when I am over the moon bursting like the 4th of July at new discoveries
unlocked out of print inspired and God breathed, and I feel Your exhale, warm?
Do you weep when the lines on my face make tracks for tears when visions of the lonely file in and sit center present in my mind? And my whole body wears out, in ragged prayer
pleading that you make a home for them, reminding you of your heart.
Do you like me?
I mean, do You like the way I make funny faces at adult children and moonwalk for the thousandth time, just to catch an ear of volcanic laughter, erupting
cuz they like me.
Do you like the way I write? Or the way my voice sounds
recorded? I don’t.
Do you like the way cheaters and sunglasses sit crooked on the bump on my nose? you know, the one you gave to my rain bird? They say she looks just like me. If you used it twice, you like it, right?
do you like the blooms I choose in May that adorn my front porch through fever heat of summer into fall’s frost?
when I’m stiff stubborn at the goose, do you still like me?
if I was the awkward one with blemished face in an ugly dress at my first dance, would you walk through the circle of popular kids and stretch out your Hand to me?
So I could dance with the real King?
Do you like me, Jesus?
if I were alone surrounded by voices wrapped in familiar sentences and familiar faces in a cafeteria where no one wanted to eat lunch with me, would you share your sandwich and chocolate milk?
Do you like me, Jesus?
Lonely questions, keeping with the greatest of company.
Why do we struggle so with accepting who God made us to be?
Uniquely gifted. An embroidering of wild colors, subtle tones, intricately woven in a holy patchwork .
Some quiet, shaded with tones of earth. Some loud, dizzying eyes…so many colors. Some reflective, because processing makes it sweeter, richer, and they savor. Some creative, stubbornly focused. Some observant and stoic like Germany’s hills, immovable. Some expressive, joining the dance on thirsty dirt, uncaged on an African plain.
It’s as if we are sure Jesus likes others, but we can’t quite imagine Him actually liking us. Like our homeschooling friend who is always gentle and kind to her children, or the friend who always does her bible study homework, or the one who is so humble and sweet and shy,
but does He like me?
What is there to possibly like about me?
To make clear, I am not talking about Jesus loving us. I am talking about Jesus liking us for us.
Really liking us.
So He made us, and saw that it was good. He delighted in all of His creation. He liked it. (Genesis 1:31).
Then sin ran rampant and killed us.
but that wasn’t the end.
Jesus was the only one who could say,
“it is finished.”
And though He could not look upon our sin, He knew what He purposed for us to become through blood, and
I like it when I see people using their gifts that God lovingly bestowed on them, like our worship leader for retreat this weekend. I love his gifting. He has been given the privilege of ushering us into the glorious presence of God, and my whole body enters into His gaze, swaying to the watching eye of God, when vibrations line his vocal chords and make a heavenly noise.
I love this
because my friend has been given this gift to capture our hearts through eyes landing on art outlining forgiveness and love. Let it burn bright in canvas memory.
I love the gifts of friends who keep time and numbers and schedules and crochet together the hanging lost threads like me, who speaks and writes, and doesn’t understand the need for itineraries or meetings.
I know you like all these people,
but do you like me?
Do you like my words?
And still wonder, slowly begins to move in beated rhythm to words arranged in heaven’s cadence,
“For it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for His good pleasure” (Philippians 2:13) meaning He delights in all of His workmanship that makes up me!
From the spinning of the womb, to the turning with age of every strand from blonde to gray,
“You who have been borne by Me from birth and have been carried from the womb; even to your old age I will be the same, and even to your graying years I will bear you! I have done it, and I will carry you…” (Isaiah 46:3-4).
So He spun me like clay and painted me like autumn.
He wove me like persistent scarlet and fields of purple Irish.
wild with color, like His heart.
I think now, He likes me.