As Is

As a father has compassion on his children, so the LORD has compassion on those who fear him; for he knows how we are formed, he remembers that we are dust.

—Psalm 103:13–14

I practice believing that, bottom line, God loves me as is, even if I never do get my act together. When we lived in that old house, I would put my hand on the plaster wall, nubbly and textured, and think thankful thoughts about the walls. I would put my hand on the floor, and think thankful thoughts about the floor, even though it was scratched and ridged and you could see where one of my black heels lost its little cap and the metal part left tiny round divots in the floor, over and over, like confetti stamped into the wood. I imagine that God does that to me, puts his hand on my head, on my heart, on my savage insecurities, and as he does it, he thinks thankful thoughts about me.

In my best moments, when I calm down and listen very closely, God says, “I didn’t ask you to become new and improved today. That wasn’t the goal. You were broken down and strange yesterday, and you still are today, and the only one freaked out about it is you.”