I want to know that Jesus cares about my breaking points and loves me more than I could ever imagine, that he will give me what he knows I need. I want to rest in that peace. Not just in hindsight, but now. I don’t feel like hearing that “God doesn’t give us more than we can handle, yada, yada, yada,” because that would be no comfort at all. That’s like saying to the Israelites enslaved in Egypt, “Well, you’ve handled it for 400 years, so obviously you CAN handle it. Quit whining. Just be glad you have somewhere to live. Think of all the people in the world who don’t have a pot to pee in or a window to throw it out of.”
I need God’s reassurance that he knows what puzzle pieces come next and that he is already behind the scenes, fitting them into place. I forget so easily that he loves me, that he likes me even. I start thinking that I’m nothing but a redheaded stepchild, and that his love is for other people, not me. I know God has very dramatically proven that to be wrong. But I still have stubborn, dirty remnants of that lie scattered about, pieces that seem to materialize out of nowhere and are hard to sweep away.