Priceless

“May I join You?” I still feel the hesitance. He is God and I am just me. Unworthy. Little. Sinful.

                But He exudes joy at my presence. “Yes. Please. Of course. Come sit. Why do you keep asking? You know I want You to come and sit beside me. This is Your spot I’ve saved for You. Please come sit and join me.”

                “Thank You, Abba. For loving me.”

                He just smiles.

                It’s quiet. Then He asks, “Do you doubt my love for you?”

                “No,” I answer. Not quickly and defensively. But slowly and thoughtfully. “No. I don’t doubt it. I just wonder why.”

                “Because I made you. Because you’re mine.”

                Again it’s quiet.

                “Now what are you wondering?”

                “Why did you make me so flawed?” The question comes out without me really thinking about it. When I hear it, I’m shocked. Am I blaming God for who I am?

                “What are the flaws you see?” He asks, without a trace of anger.

                I think.

                “I’m impatient. I get angry. I forget to visit You, or worse, I refuse to. I have dark spots inside.”

                “Dark spots?”

                “Dark spots. Areas I can’t go. Things I won’t think about. But that make me who I am.”

                “And were they there when I made you?”

                “No. Living my life put them there.”

                “So I didn’t make the dark spots –“

                “And You didn’t make me flawed.”

                “So, just because what I made got dirty, should I love it any less?”

                “No.”

                Long silence.

                “Can I have your dark spots?”

                “Will I have to look at them to give them to You?”

                “Maybe. Do you trust me?”

                “Yes.” Emphatically. Immediately. “Yes, I trust You. You may have my dark spots. You may have my life. You may have my son. My crafts. My gifts. My money. My clothes. My emotions. My time. My present. My future. And You may have my past.”

                “Thank you. I give you back today.”

                “That’s it?” But it’s not a complaint. It’s a joyful release. A realization that all I’m required to do is live today. All I’m responsible for is right now. No worries about tomorrow. No regrets about yesterday. I only have today.

                “That’s it.” And there’s happy laughter in His voice. Perhaps even pride that I’d begun to catch on? And love. Lot’s of love.

                “Yes. I trust You.” I say again.

                “So what will you do?” He asks.

                “Hmm?” I was lost in thought of trust, love, friends.

                “So what will You do with today?”

                “What do You want me to do?”

                “Live.”

                And a couple of doubts creep in. A couple of fears crop up. I need more details. I want more specifics. How do I live? What exactly should I do? But He’s quiet.

                “I’ve already told you all that,” he finally answers.

                But I want more. I want direct orders to follow.

                “Why?”

                “So I don’t make any mistakes. I trust You. I just don’t trust me. Make me trustworthy. Make me worthwhile.”

                “Your worth is the price I paid for you. Your worth is the extent of My love for you.”

                “That would make me priceless.”

                “Exactly.”

                And my mind jumped a couple of steps ahead. “That would make everyone around me priceless.”

                “Exactly.”

                “So that’s what I’ll do today.”

                “What?”

                “I’ll feed Your sheep. I’ll love Your people.”

                “Thank you.”

                “Thank You.” And I jump up off the savior’s mat and run back to my kitchen to begin baking.