For Ragamuffins, God's Name Is Mercy. We

I Asked For Wonder, And He Gave It To Me.

This Is The God Of The Gospel Of Grace. A God Who, Out Of Love For Us, Sent The Only Son He Ever Had Wrapped In Our Skin. He Learned How To Walk, Stumbled And Fell, Cried For His Milk, Sweated Blood In The Night, Was Lashed With A Whip And Showered With Spit, Was Fixed To A Cross, And Died Whispering Forgiveness On Us All.

I Have A Word For You. I Know Your Whole Life Story. I Know Every Skeleton In Your Closet. I Know Every Moment Of Sin, Shame, Dishonesty And Degraded Love That Has Darkened Your Past. Right Now I Know Your Shallow Faith, Your Feeble Prayer Life, Your Inconsistent Discipleship. And My Word Is This: I Dare You To Trust That I Love You Just As You Are, And Not As You Should Be. Because You’re Never Going To Be As You Should Be.

The Splendor Of A Human Heart That Trusts It Is Loved Unconditionally Gives God More Pleasure Than Westminster Cathedral, The Sistine Chapel, Beethoven’s “ninth Symphony”, Van Gogh’s “sunflowers”, The Sight Of 10,000 Butterflies In Flight, Or The Scent Of A Million Orchids In Bloom. Trust Is Our Gift Back To God, And He Finds It So Enchanting That Jesus Died For Love Of It.

When I Get Honest, I Admit I Am A Bundle Of Paradoxes. I Believe And I Doubt, I Hope And Get Discouraged, I Love And I Hate, I Feel Bad About Feeling Good, I Feel Guilty About Not Feeling Guilty. I Am Trusting And Suspicious. I Am Honest And I Still Play Games. Aristotle Said I Am A Rational Animal; I Say I Am An Angel With An Incredible Capacity For Beer.