Back in July, I wrote this:

This is not a mature, adult faith. It’s a mess, a broken jumble of confusion. But I’m posting it here because it’s real. Jacob wrestled with God. David asked Him tough questions, and lamented and wailed. The Bible is full of people struggling with God, people who didn’t have neat and tidy answers, people that we would feel uncomfortable having around if they showed up at our next small group meeting.

Way back when I was 11 years old, I threw two troubling questions at God, and He answered. Now I feel as if that wasn’t a lifetime ago, as if I’m still Little Me, all childish and earnest and troubled, desperate to believe and trust, desperate for answers that satisfy.

He’s the same God Who answered a crying little girl…the same God Who brought peace to a little girl who needed to cling to hope and beauty…He’s that personal, intimate God…Abba…Daddy…

It scares me. He scares me. Because I know that encountering His love never leaves me unscathed. Never. I will be undone. My heart will be broken…in the most beautiful and healing way. Who will I turn out to be, when I see myself through the loving eyes of my Creator?

I want to run…far far away from a God I cannot escape, at the same time that I want to throw myself into His everlasting arms.

So I stand on what feels like a mountain top, yelling to the Heavens, “Who am I? And You — who are You? What kind of God could possibly love me? And how will I survive Your unfathomable, wild, fierce, tender love?”

I still don’t have all the answers. Gradually I am learning to embrace the mystery. I am learning to want God more than I want answers, more than I want everything resolved and tidy and sensible, more even than I want healing and recovery.

Funny thing, though. Once I started focusing more on Him, and less on overcoming my issues, the more my healing has progressed. That verse I learned as a kid about, “Seek ye first the kingdom of God and all these things shall be added unto you” — is this an example of that?

I no longer expect God to make perfect sense to my puny little brain. Frankly, I don’t want that kind of God — He would be too simple, too puny, too small. I want a real God, one worthy of my worship because He is so far above me…even if that means His ways don’t always make sense to me.

It’s been quite a ride, these last months of 2014, and the first month of 2015. I hope to be blogging about at least some of it. Quite a ride. Things have been neither easy nor serene. I have not been left unscathed; my heart is being broken in new ways, and I’m still trying to figure out who I am. But I wouldn’t trade this for anything.