I’m sitting at my kitchen table right now, drinking a delightful cup of coffee and enjoying the rare moments of silence surrounding me. It’s been one of those days, that while holding nothing spectacular, manages to soften your heart with feelings of subtle gratitude and refreshing peace.
As I’ve been working around the house today doing those normal everyday things, I’ve been listening to music, and again, more softening. And tears. Tears for all of the days gone by where I was so far away from the God that I loved so desperately. Tears for the glimmers of hope I keep feeling and seeing, that maybe he didn’t give up on me, even when I gave up completely on him. For some reason I feel such a sense of grace for my unbelief…I guess I expected that if I ever returned I’d be met with an unrelenting sea of guilt. Not even necessarily from God, but shame within myself for having fallen away. Perhaps I’m being too easy on myself, but I just have this feeling that he understands why I walked away.
I’m trying to figure out a way to describe this journey, this feeling, this softening. I feel like my faith has been a secret garden, locked up and unattended by me for so long, and when I finally was ready to unlock the gates again, I saw that someone had been tending to the garden the whole time while I was away. The garden doesn’t look like it did when I last walked the grounds, a lot of things needed to change (and still do!)…but it is nonetheless beautiful…and worth the effort.