God loves me. He loves me yesterday. He loves me tomorrow. He loves me. Loves me. Loves me.
And in the beginning, out of love, He curled my hair around His finger and kissed the freckles onto my cheeks. He sculpted the shape of my breasts and ran His hands over my hips to curve them. He loves me. He loves me. He loves me.
And today I saw Him weaving the late golden sun into my hair and felt it sparkling in my eyes. He showed me a woodpecker and a hawk, gently swooping against the blue sky. The misunderstood yellow moon and the gothic shadows against the pale snow. The dusty twilight of everything beyond. Everything mysterious. Everything dangerous. Everything precious. In everything, He’s trying to show me that He loves me.
Yet it wasn’t enough for me. All of it wasn’t enough for any of us. And so He went to His Son, desperate, crying, hands clenched, shaking and told him,
“You have to leave. You have to go down there and make a way for them."
And so His Son left His Father’s side where He had been forever, even before us, and showed up in a womb, came out in a stable, grew up and told everyone about His Father’s love.
But we killed Him. And God let us. And when I think of how God used all of his wrath and outrage at our sin to whip and beat His beloved, that's when I understand. Because of after that, what else could be done? After putting His perfect child through the worst pain imaginable, how could there be any punishment left?
There must have been a silence everywhere when it was finished. On earth. And in Heaven. And down in the fiery furnace, the devil must've fell to his knees and shrieked a bitter cry of defeat because he should've had us.
But God saved us from damnation because He loves us. So He could put sun in our hair and paint us blue skies.