I still remember how I first learned the word jaded.
My sixth grade English teacher said she preferred teaching us sixth graders because by eighth grade, students became jaded. Jaded? What was this mysterious quality of eighth graders she found so unlikeable?
Now I not only know the definition of jaded, I sometimes, to my chagrin, find I am it.
Sometimes I even find myself feeling jaded toward God.
I think I know Him. I think I’ve seen it all. And subtly, deep down, I start to secretly think to myself in the most subconscious of ways that He is not enough for me. I should seek my entertainment, challenge, sense of purpose, and/or need for love elsewhere. I know in my head this is incorrect, but my heart refuses to turn to Him.
God, who knows everything, knows all my secret thoughts, even the ones I don’t articulate to myself. He is the first to know the rebelliousness of my heart. He sees the signs of me turning away long before I actually do it. And what is His response?
He pulls back the curtain and smiles down at me.
Hi. Remember Me?
Even though He knows I was just thinking so much less of Him than He is, He draws near. And in His presence, I find I am but a child once again, eyes wide, staring up at a Love more wondrous than I could have ever imagined, a Love I don’t deserve, a Love that doesn’t make sense.
Why would this Love come find me? But a thousand times in a day, it does.