I get home from student ministries and, after having so much fun and drinking too much coffee, lay in bed and remember the runaway.
She was just another girl who ran from home and God… who lashed out, who felt crippled by despair, who tried to die, who literally jumped off a roof.
And I wonder why God chose her – why He loved that broken girl so much that He pursued her enough to put her back together better than before… over three years have passed and it still doesn’t make sense to me.
And as I toss and turn, the memory has me in awe all over again that I get to love such a God forever, and that He’s excited to love me too. I know that He’s the only place my soul finds comfort and purpose, but my heart can’t contain such a love.
And then a thought occurs to me, the kind of thought you can only get when you’re talking with God past 2am… the thing was, the runaway always ran out. It’s kind of funny, or sad, that this broken girl had so much love to give but it was never enough. She couldn’t heal, couldn’t forgive, couldn’t BE enough… Not until Jesus showed her a love like only He had, and promised to transform her heart to be like His.
I watch my ceiling fan blades whirring in the darkness above me, and smile a little to myself because I think it makes some more sense now. It makes sense that she had to survive her heart breaking, her life shattering, to make room for the only kind of love that heals and transforms all it touches, and never runs out.
I close my eyes, still smiling, praying for sleep to come soon with peaceful dreams… knowing that the runaway found her way back home, and that her brokenness has been healed.