The God of All Good Things

You are the God of Abraham.

The God of Jacob and Moses and David.

The God of Saul-turned-Paul, of Peter, of Thomas.

You are the God of healed bodies, redeemed lives, and beauty-filled scars on hearts.

You are the God of hope, justice, and mercy. You are the God of grace. The God of all things good and holy and pure and righteous.

And you are the God of me.

Me, with my black heart and white knuckles and bruised-from-fighting body. Me, with my ugly thoughts, with my daggers-for-eyes, and blood-thirsty lying lips.

You are the God of all things good.

Yet you are also the God of me.

Me, with my messy history and unrelenting sins. Me, with a past strewn with lying and hatred and hopelessness.

You are the God of me.

You are the God of Abraham, who refused to wait on your timing. You are the God of Jacob, who wrestled with you until he was satisfied. You are the God of Moses, the ashamed and the murderer. You are the God of David, the adulterer, liar, coward, and murderer. You are the God of Saul-turned-Paul, the murderer of the Saints. You are the God of Peter, the one who denied you repeatedly. You are the God of Thomas, the doubting one.

You are the God of me — the impatient, fight-ready, murdering, adulterating, cowardly, lying, doubting one. The one who constantly denies you.

You are the God of healed bodies.
You are the God of redeemed lives.
You are the God of beauty-filled scars on hearts.

If you are the God of all things good, and you cannot associate with darkness — and if I am bad and full of the dark — you could not be the God of me.

Yet, you are the God of me. So that must mean that I am good, full of light.

That must mean that I am redeemable, healable, beautiful, valuable.