“For I know the plans I have for you…plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” ~ Jeremiah 29:11

These words have never left me over the years. Time and time again, I am reminded that mine is not just a random course. That there is a purpose, and if I’m patient enough to wait, a path through the wilderness.

I’ve even named my guitar Jeremiah, because as I hold my guitar to me everyday, so do I keep those words close.

Thwarted dreams are terrible things, and I’ve seen people twisted and made hollow by them. Slowly, but surely, I’ve begun to let go of the things I decided I wanted long ago and instead, trust that maybe there are better things to hope for.

I still keep his pictures on my wall, and part of me still loves him more than it loves air, than it loves sleep, than it loves solitude.

For I remember forgetting to breathe the first time I saw his face.

The other part of me, hardened and weary, tells me that men are hard things to love, which is why God is the way He is. It takes a boundless being to put up with our weakness and our innate propensity to hurt the very people who we love, and love us, most.

“Why do you love me so much?” he asked once. “You shouldn’t.” I remember calling him a stupid, stupid man. It’s not love when you hold back. It’s not love when you parcel out your affection.

So instead I pour my heart into words, into song, into worship and prayer. For even though I give everything I have through those mediums, I find myself renewed; there is still plenty of love left over. Enough even to love the people who are painful to love – where it feels like you’re pouring it into a black hole, and you don’t know if it’s going anywhere, if the love is doing anything besides making your heart ache.

But the litany carries in the silence. I hear my little heart say to the air, to the sky, chanting out to the universe, a love song that does not end. And in the stillness, I hear Him sing it back to me.