Humans aren’t made of diamond; we are not unscratchable. The pain we experience can leave an indelible mark. When the inevitable dents and bruises come, the marks don’t just buff out. People can do things to us that can’t be undone. Say things that can’t be forgotten. Bend us in such a way that we must contend with the resulting distortion for decades.

My interviewer (a pastor) asked me this question on a Sunday morning. As a guest, I was about to talk about Jesus’s wisdom. The impromptu interview was designed to help people get to know me a bit before I spoke. Many listening were Christians. Some weren’t.

         The good question gave me pause.

My thoughts buzzed like a circuit breaker about to shut off. Too many cords plugged into one outlet.  My feelings raced about like loud and giggling children bounding into the living room on Christmas morning.

         How do I describe what’s so good about Christianity to strangers in ninety seconds? I thought of the person I’d just met a few minutes before who’d never been to church and wasn’t a Christian but risked coming that morning for the first time in her life.

         “What’s so good about Christianity?” I repeated.

         “The tears of God,” I said. “I’m a Christian because God cries.”

Perhaps today you struggle below the surface wondering when the light will appear and I want you to know how brave you are to wait, to pause, to risk resting when it seems like others blossom, popping up all around you.

For those of us whose formal introduction to Jesus was muddled and mishandled, whose hearts and minds and bodies have held onto the terror of the threat rather than the loveliness of the shelter we sought, who continue to struggle to connect to the love that our God professes for us – a prayer: