There are nights like tonight where I feel that the words are just stuck inside me, begging me to make sense of them.
Is it possible that our rebellion against the spiritual (call it god, faith, whatever you like) actually proves that a spiritual authority exists?
What if we, in our frail humanity, are invited to find strength and healing in the scars of Jesus?…Scars healing within the shelter of scars.
Deep down, in the deepest parts, don’t we hope that life will turn out right, that we can still dream, and that God hasn’t forgotten about us?…Don’t we all hope for something better, even if we don’t show any signs of hope on the surface?
Why do we imagine, why do we create, and why do we dream if we are not desperately longing for something beyond ourselves?
What if we are asking too little of God? What if we are answering life’s complex questions with our own simple answers, mostly because we expect Him to remain silent?