This is my letter to the world, that never wrote to me

It will be said on that day, “ Behold this is our God; we have waited for him, that he might save us.  This is the Lord; we have waited for him; let us be glad and rejoice in his salvation.”- Isaiah 25:9

He himself bore our sins in his body on the tree, that we might die to sin and live to righteousness.  By his wounds you have been healed.  For you were straying like sheep but have now returned to the Shepherd and Overseer of your souls. – 1 Peter 2:24-25

Oh, that He could breathe life into this flesh; that He could come for rescue, for redemption, for love in the midst of utmost hate. 
Oh that He could show me what it means to treasure; that He could set purity before my eyes, and grace, and beauty in the midst of utmost brokenness. 
It makes no sense to me. 
Who am I to feel for the brokenhearted; who am I to hurt for the broken in spirit?  Who am I to wonder of love and hope in a world that has corrupted the very essence of either?

Therefore, preparing your minds for action, and being sober-minded, set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ.  As obedient children, do not be conformed to the passions of your former ignorance, but as he who called you is holy, you also be holy in all your conduct – 1 Peter 1:13-15

I can convince myself for any set period of time that I belong here; that I can fit in, look like the world.  But then I wake up.  I open my eyes and there’s a shadow over everything I called my life.  Nothing is blurred anymore; all before my sight is crystal clear.  This is not my home.  She will not have me. The Spirit He allows me is too bright for her to contain, too pure for her to defile as she has polluted everything else. 

But sometimes I get so caught up in being awake that I let myself forget that He still has work for me here, in this unwelcoming hollow place.
I am learning still; I am but a child trying to mimic my Father, failing miserably so much of the time.

I am still learning to think of you before me, always.  I am still learning to love above all else.  I am still learning to do when I say, to act when I speak. 
I am still learning to let Him show me, to let Him move me… even when I’m hurt, even when I’m stubborn and comfortable where I am.

I am still learning what it meant that Jesus came here to this world that He did not belong to and succeeded greatly at all the things I fail at.  He walked with the lowly and became a servant to the poor.  How beautiful a paradox that the Savior of man came to the earth as a precious, fragile infant. 

 
Who am I that He gives strength to my movement, that He puts conviction in my heart, that He puts purpose in my action?
I am still learning; I am but a child trying to mimic a mighty King.