Here’s to tension. Mystery. The invading thoughts that rattle you awake at 2AM.

The beautiful dichotomy of life is that we are eternal beings that feel trapped inside of these decaying suits of skin and bone we call bodies.

But these same bodies that relieve themselves and bleed and sweat and break also are also meant to be temples in which He is pleased to dwell. Bodies He seemed fit to occupy as a radical display of outrageous love.

And our souls– appearing less as wastelands and more as landfills of sins, feelings, longings, memories, triumphs, and disasters.

We hold it all. We are all of it. We ache for wholeness–the healing of all creation. We cry out as one with the rocks.

All the while learning to see ourselves as we’ve been crafted to see. Somehow, someway, we are the Imago Dei.

I suppose that is what this is— these writings or images or whatever else takes up space here. It’s me sorting through the dichotomies of humanness— intimacy and vulnerability and tension  and laughter and pain— in the best way I know how.

If you’re looking for conclusions, I’m afraid this is not the place. Here is where I’m leaving perfectionism behind, and simply letting my life tell its story, in whatever chapter I find myself.

It may be messy, and it will be vulnerable.

But if you’re down to do this with me, to approach God as reverently and honestly as you can, then there is space for that here.

So, this is for those like me who tremble quietly beneath the weight of their dreams, hopes, and fears; the weight of faith. The weight of devotion and doubt. The weight of Him.

For those like Jacob, who have wrestled with God, and now live with a limp that is evidence that you’ve not only touched God, but He’s touched you.

— Christina