Confession:
Until two days ago, I hadn't cried since the day I left camp.
And I've had things to cry about.
But it just never happened.
I tried...I watched sad movies, read old journals, thought about sad things.
I even went for long drives late at night to the middle of nowhere Alabama just to wallow in my self-pity and try to make tears come.
But nothing.
No tears.
Until two days ago.

It was one of those moments where I knew I was learning something the moment I was learning it.
It was as if the Lord was actually speaking audibly to me - so much so that I'm not even sure what the word "audible" even means anymore.
It was a lesson 6 years in the making.
My life and my heart and my attitude were changed.
Changed in eternal ways.
Because of this one lesson.
And it brought me to tears.
Big, rolling, heavy tears.
Because it was tangible grace.
It was the sweet, intimate, mind-blowing grace of God in the form of a hard, painful, life-altering lesson learned.

It was beautiful.
And it was real.

And then, in the middle of this sweet, emotional moment, the fire alarm went off.
I'm in pajamas, in my bed, sobbing..and the freaking fire alarm goes off.
I had makeup ALL over my face.
And, on top of everything, it was raining. Like REALLY raining.
And I don't own a rain jacket. And I had lost my umbrella.

I may or may not have cussed out loud.

But then, as I walked down three flights of stairs, sirens blaring in my ears, only to stand in the rain in the middle of the night because some ADPi burnt popcorn, I laughed.
Because life is really funny.
Because sometimes it takes you 6 years to learn something that you've heard and read about your entire life.
And sometimes the most intimate moments with our God are the moments where we see how truly diseased we are inside.
And sometimes moments that are beautiful and real and Donald Miller book-esque are interrupted by fire alarms and hurricane Ida.

And now I'm sitting on my couch eating peanut butter from the jar and watching a very biased report on our "economic crisis" - frustrated with both because this reporter is, dare I say, ignorant, and this fork is a completely inappropriate utensil for getting the last bit of peanut butter off the bottom of the jar - and I'm wondering how I can go from being brought to my knees by the grace and the goodness of the Lord, to waking up the next morning and choosing sin once again.

I once heard someone say that true freedom is being free to choose your master.

If it is true (and the Bible says that it is) that I am no longer a slave to sin but a slave to righteousness before the Lord, then I am feeling the great rift of fallen men. And I hate it.

I am longing for the time and place where sin does not exist. And we can stand before the throne of God and worship him as our chosen master.

Because that will be a time and a place full of real, beautiful, Donald Miller book-esque moments. More so than we could ever conceive.
There will be no biased news reports, or struggling economies, or incredibly frustrating peanut butter/fork situations.
There will be no hunger.
There will be no tears.
There will be no sin.
And there will certainly be no fire alarms.

And I can't wait.