It was a bitter cold night in February 2017.  I remember it like it was yesterday.  I lay on the floor of my bedroom. Curled up in a fetal position, body shaking, my tears fell away into the thick carpet threads.  
I had been wrestling with my faith for several months.  I had come to the realization that for the past decade I had been deceived by a false Gospel.  Instead of a stream of living water quenching my thirst with satisfying refreshment, my faith had become a barren wilderness.  Draining me.  Starving me.  Slowly choking out every bit of life within me.
Instead of freedom, my faith had become a check list of do’s and don’ts and I lived in constant fear taking a misstep. My motives seemed pure enough.  I loved my Lord dearly and sincerely desired to live a life pleasing to Him.  But over time my innocent motive had transformed into a chokehold of perfectionism and the spirit of the law had become suffocated out by the endless letters. 
And so, finding myself lost in this wilderness, I cried out for help.  “I am lost Jesus!  I have wondered away from the flock and I cannot find my way back.  I have tried to walk out of my legalistic prison for months now, but I can’t do it.  I can no longer walk.  I need you to CARRY me out, Jesus.  Carry me back to your fold!”
It was a prayer of rock bottom.  A desperate plead to my Shepherd to carry me to safety.  And you know what?  He did just that.   More specifically, His LOVE did it.  His overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love.  A love that tears down lies and climbs over mountains to get to me.  
What’s even more beautiful?  I didn’t have to earn this immeasurable love.  I certainly didn’t deserve it.  Yet, Jesus poured out this love anyway.  And that is more than just love, that is grace.  

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