But God

With a singe bite, with a single swallow, they destroyed it all. Their tattered innocence dropped from them, leaving them naked and afraid, trembling under the inadequate covering of leaves and branches, hiding from their all-seeing, all-knowing Maker.

But God called them. And clothed them. And rekindled hope.

He was a crazy old man, living alone as a God-fearer in a world of wickedness. Beam by beam, he built a boat in a land that had never seen more than a mist, prophesying death and destruction with each hammer-blow. In that boat, he alone, and his family of eight and a whole bunch of beasts floated, feeling forgotten, on a sea without end.

But God called him. And carried him to dry land. And rekindled hope.

They were old. Ancient. Long past the days of youthful passion, monthly anticipation, monthly disappointment. The lack of a monthly flow was a testiment to nothing but the relentless passage of years. The monthly crushing disappointment had long settled to an ache of regret for what never was, never would be.

But God called them. And caused them to conceive. And rekindled hope.

They lay crushed under their burdens, ground to the dust under the boots of their oppressors, building bricks in the baking sun. For generations, they had been born and died as slaves, until they scarcely remembered the concept of freedom. The promises of long ago seemed but fanciful dreams, and survival depended on resigning themselves to another day under the whip.

But God called them. And conquered the king. And rekindled hope.

They stood by the sea, trapped. Before them, the sea waves lapped softly on the shore, taunting them with sounds of peace in the face of terror.  Behind them, the cloud of dust under the hooves of their enemies' horses rose to join the pillar of cloud and fire, obliterating the horizon, obliterating any hope of escape. There was nowhere to go. There was nowhere to run.

But God called them. And cleaved the sea. And rekindled hope.

And so it goes, over and over. We are at the end of our rope. We are beyond our own abilities. We are in despair. There is no way out. There is no way forward. There is no hope. It's over. It's done. The end.

But God

But God steps in and changes it all.

The last one left. The kid nobody wanted. Too short, too stupid, too awkward, too slow to be anything but a liabilty.

But God. But God called her and chose her and loved her!

Broken and battered by life, with a heart so scarred it could hardly feel, and so scared it didn't dare try again.

But God. But God called her and healed her and restored her to life!

Left without a father, defenseless and alone, trying to be brave, trying to be tough, but always crying for her father's love.

But God. Oh, but God called her and wrapped her in his Father arms until she could rest there and hear his heart beat his Father love for her. Abba. Abba. Abba.

Cold in the grave he lay, three days cold and stiff. Battered, beaten, bruised, wrapped, and left in the tomb. Crucified. Dead. Buried. The end.

But God. Oh, shout it from the rooftops: But God!!

But God defeated death! He is not dead! He is alive! And he comes again!

But God. And my world, as I know it, shifts. And will never again be the same.

Because God.

Thank God.