It's no secret to most of my closest friends that I'm pretty progressive. I'm down with universal healthcare. I voted for Obama- twice (and I don't regret it at all). I'm an evolutionist-- I believe God made it, but it took a LONG TIME... and science, well, I believe that points to God. I believe that women have the right to choose. I believe in recognizing my privilege-- because it's there. And I believe that in my acknowledgement, I can help work for race and gender equality to the betterment of the future. I don't believe in perpetuating gender stereotypes-- I believe little girls can be strong and little boys can be beautiful, and vice versa. I believe that everyone is allowed to cry when they're sad, yell when they're angry, and play with dolls AND legos. I try my best to support the LGBTQ community-- and I love my young people who find themselves there. Especially my young people. They struggle because they have an understanding of their innate self that others will not accept.
I differ from some of my nearest and dearest friends in these ways-- for both political and religious reasons. But, before we necessarily knew that about each other, we loved each other. I've bonded with friends over hours of Friends episodes, over mutual love of pomegranate frozen yogurt, over obsessions with anything/everything cable-knit, over a fascination with spoken word poetry, over an unfortunate addiction to Netflix, over a deep and steady love for the Lord... these are the things that cause my heart to swell when I speak of those I love. Their hearts are close to mine. Their humanity is plain to me- and it stands at the forefront. There is grace between us.
And this is what arises when we speak to one another over these things in which our disagreement lies. Not fear, not hate... sometimes disappointment... sometimes frustration... but always, always grace. It is a grace that I extend, and a grace that has been extended (and overextended) to me.
In this grace-- in this space-- between my friends and I, the veil has been lifted. And in my heart, I believe that I have seen the Kingdom of God. The Father's House, which has many rooms. The space in which Heaven has kissed the Earth-- it has been kissed with grace. With kindness. With the love that not only stands in the gap, but the love that fills the gaps up, and gives us abundance. An olive branch that I believe only the Holy Spirit could extend.
And this... this is why my heart aches: because I have seen this beautiful space. The Father's House, which has many rooms. The Father's House, which has space for you and space for me and space for all of our baggage and all of our wounds and all of our triumphs and all of our hopes and all of our fears and all of our joy and all of our criticisms, the Father's House is not a piece of land that one of us can put a stake in and claim for ourselves exclusively. The Father's House belongs to my traditional friends, my conservative friends, my progressive friends, my liberal friends... the Father's House belongs to the Father. And all who believe. And all who dare to believe that His grace is sufficient. And all who believe that we have received the fullness of Jesus Christ, in whom we have all received grace upon grace (Jn. 1:16).
And I cannot help but be grateful for this house. For this love that reaches me and reaches you; and reaches us in our valleys and finds us on our mountaintops. And, occasionally, when I find people beneath the Cross that see Jesus' house very differently than I do, I simply remind myself that indeed, the Father's House has many rooms... and that the love of Jesus has found us in different rooms... separated by long hallways.
But regardless, I am grateful. Grateful that I share this house with beautiful friends-- who agree and disagree with me on a multitude of things-- beneath the banner of Love, and constantly surrounded by grace.
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