Aman turned to me last week when we were on plane about 30,000 feet over the earth.
He sat in C18 and I sat in D18 and he turned to me and said 4 words:
Everybody’s in. Love wins.
I had an open Bible in my lap.
And you could hear the engines under us, like you could hear how the whole world’s moving, how the whole trajectory of everything is moving.
Sometimes it feels deafening. It can be hard to know how to hear.
On Sunday, we come home from our little country chapel, after being bent over the Word and sharing big pots of soup and sharing our imperfect, battered hearts together, and us all just being messy and scared and broken down and real together around some Real Hope.
We saw it right after we’d got home. After we got home from breaking the bread and taking the wine and the astonishing healing of all us messed up, imperfect people coming to the very large Table and remembering the Cross and swallowing down the memory of the miracle of His grace.
We saw it right after we’d walked in the door and took off our coats: 21 men in their orange coveralls kneeling in the sand.
And 21 men wrapped completely in black, ISIS, standing behind those kneeling Christians, with what they were heralding as their “message signed in blood to the nation of the cross.”
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