You’re so jaded, she whispers as I make another snide comment from the next chair.
I know she’s right.
It’s a coping mechanism, you know.
We cynics are wounded idealists.
Secretly we love a happily ever after, but we’ve lived long enough to know that it ain’t happening.
At least not any time soon.
Maybe that’s one of the reasons that I find this Story so compelling.
Promise. Hope. A Redeemer who will set it all right.
Yes, my heart whispers. Yes, please. Let it be true.
It’s just, you know, the mess.
I get hung up on the mess every time.
I’ve grown up in church.
I’ve spent pretty much my whole life loving Jesus in the best way that I know how.
And still I look around and see so, so much mess.
We cynics don’t trust easily.
But the word today is believe (Romans 3:22).
In Greek (y’all know I love my Greek) it means entrust.
Put your trust here.
Not in the mess. Not even in the story.
But in its Author.
And so, it’s here (again) that I hang my hope.
It’s here that I dare to expose my wounded idealist’s heart.
Because the mess is real.
But the story is true.
And the Author is trustworthy.