coming home

I have been so far from Jesus for so long He almost feels like a stranger. Like your old aunt Betty you used to play dolls with or something. A long lost friend from grade school, or a teddy bear you cherished but lost. I hate that He feels this way to me. I remember when He was my everything. I would wake up praising Him, read about Him, listen to Him, sing to Him, dance with Him, I would journal and write to Him. I would talk out loud forever and ever with Him. I remember when He was everything to me.

I miss Him.

and it's all my fault.

My friend Sarah told me something very true the other day. She told me that I had forgotten about redemption. I was treating my betrayal like it was my final sentence--like there was no hope for me. The truth is, there is an abundant amount of hope for me. There is hope that He will once again be my cherished possession. There is hope again that I will ache for what He aches for and cry because of injustice and corruption. There is hope that I will delight myself in Him and nothing else. There is hope.

I need to remember Him in all my small moments. I need to remember Him the way I used to sneak away when I worked at Books A Million to read the Bible in the bathroom stall. I need to remember Him like when I used to pull the car over on the side of the road just to sing my heart out to Him and cry. Like how I would hike for hours just to sit in the woods and be in the quiet with Him, how I would dream of what He was like when He was here. How His hair was or, what kind of things he would say, or how He might say my name. I used to be so in love with Him--mesmerized by Him.

He is worthy. So worthy. It's me that's changed.

I need Him so much. I miss Him. I know it's a long journey to get back to where I was. The Prodigal Son had a long walk to get back home--but I know that my Yeshua is already running to me. I see Him over the hill, His arms stretched wide, the dirt flying from His feet, He can't wait to get to me.

and again--I can't wait to get to Him.