It was obvious from the second I woke up this morning that I needed a little Brennan Manning in my life.
At 5:30 a.m. my eyes slammed open and started a catalogue of the day and the weekend and the week and the month. That was ok.
And then it started a catalogue on the myriad of ways I would be defeated for the day the weekend the week and the month. That wasn’t so ok.
It was like I was a little bubble riding along with the soap scum down the drain… I mean just filthy, disgusting talk about myself to myself. The words went around and around and around and sucked me in. It wouldn’t stop. I told my friend, Jesus about it and he hung in there with me, but it didn’t stop.
So I stopped by the bookstore on the way home from a meeting I had to attend and picked up a Brennan Manning book. Because if there’s anyone who can convince me that God not only loves me (which, is after all, a theological imperative), that he also LIKES me, it’s Brennan Manning.
So I’m reading… And I’m trying to let this stuff sink down deep. Brennan’s words are good, but these were the ones that captured me:
Come then my Beloved, My lovely one, Come.
For see, the winter is over, the rains are over and gone.
Flowers are appearing on the earth. The season of glad songs has come,
The cooing of the turtle dove is heard in our land.
The fig tree is forming its first figs
And the blossoming vines give out their fragrance.
Come then, my beloved, my lovely one, come. Song of Songs 2:10-13
Those words are much better than the soap-scummy ones being slung around and around the drain in my brain. And what’s more? Those words are the truth.