I don’t want to be holy. Holy is pressed, clean linen. Holy is slow, sacred, unyielding. Holy wants to be soft, but sometimes, holy is hard. Some sharp edges, some closed spaces.
Holy shouldn’t get dirty.
That is a privilege seldom mine. My story is messy, some handmade, some unearned. I find myself fighting battles not of my own making; battles, I wish I didn’t need to fight. They are Holy Wars. Fighting Holy Wars does not mean I want to be holy, I fight them nonetheless.
While I aspire to be holy, I would rather be redeemed. I want people to see the mess that I was, and the mess that I am, but God.
And Grace. It works.
Because I am. He extended unmerited Grace to me ever before the mess I would become.
I was a mess,
I am a mess,
and I will be a mess.
And yet, He loves me, deeply. Fully, with clear eyes and total commitment.
I wish I could always do that.
Grace is all in, without pause or consideration, without condition, without regard. Grace is broken crayons making pretty pictures.
So, I won’t be holy.
I will try, I will aspire to holiness, but…