When I reflect on God’s love for me in light of many of my intentional and sometimes horrifyingly bad life choices, at least the EXPERIENCE of feeling that love, it seems to me it can’t be true that God accepts my sin as less than truly broken, degrading, shameful to both of us. It is not a sense that he has turned a blind eye. Sometimes I want to believe that God kind of winks and says, “Hey man, you’re in your twenties, I know it’s tough. But it’s cool. I’ll let that shit slide.” That’s a misconception and a devastatingly seductive one. Rather what makes sense to me, at least some of the time, is that He must love me fully in spite of my fucked-up-ness; he does not revoke his invitation to help me move away from the things which are killing me, with which I am maiming myself, ensnaring myself, handicapping my daily living. He delights in me in the midst of my weakness. He looks for me with longing.
He loves me. He doesn’t love my bad choices, but he refuses to cut me off because of them. It costs him something to do this, yet he continues because of the depth of his love.
I also think that, beyond this important but sometimes heady concept of “love,” God might actually also LIKE me. That one’s harder for me.