It’s too big.
Some days I actually feel like my heart might explode.
He LOVES us.
It’s like I can’t sing loud enough, stick my hands in the air high enough, say it well enough. It makes me slam my palms into the ceiling of the car. It makes me nearly crush that teeny tiny communion cup in my hand. It makes my voice crack like a 12-year-old boy.
I want to dance in the street like King David. I want to grab the people in the mountains trapped in idolatry by both shoulders and tell them how loved they are.
Please, stop. Just stop. Stop what you’re doing – it’s worthless, worthless rags – and love Him back.
I want to shake myself – upset over a frozen computer or a traffic jam, or wasting hours in bed when Jesus is asking me to watch and pray – and say stop what you’re doing – it’s worthless, worthless rags – and love Him back.
He loves us. It’s too big. We can never risk too much, go too far, give away too much of ourselves.
My heart will sing no other name.