I don’t believe in magic. Not really. But if I did, I’d swear we had a sweet little joy incantation sprinkled all over us this week.
Sandy beaches. Sunny skies. And throwing The Kid from one end of the pool to the other — again and again and again.
I listened to a handful of books — and read a few more. The week’s reading selection was all about “the word” — both the Scriptures and the word that became flesh. When it comes to faith, these are the two areas I love and hate the most: the Bible and Jesus.
Maybe it was all the vitamin D. Or the ice-cold Bikini Blondes. Or the lack of a daily 10-hour grind. Likely some of all three. But I felt a departure in my soul this week — a departure from my frustrating need to know and believe all the right stuff.
I think faith is less about “rightness” and more about trust. Trusting in Jesus. Trusting in His Gospel story.
Trusting doesn’t make any of this easier. But it’s different. It feels different. The areas of friction I feel don’t have to be resolved. I don’t have to feel guilty for not being sure. And the Gospel is about more than managing the shit in our lives more effectively. All that is good news.
Holy Nickers 