“Though we are incomplete, God loves us completely. Though we are imperfect, He loves us perfectly. Though we may feel lost and without compass, God's love encompasses us completely. ... He loves every one of us, even those who are flawed, rejected, awkward, sorrowful, or broken.”
GENESIS 33-35
JOURNAL
I love these verses and the reunion of Jacob and Esau. I can only imagine the drama, the tension, and the fear as Jacob crosses the desert while Esau approaches. Jacob has spent years living inside the consequences of his choices, and now the moment he’s dreaded has finally arrived. He expects anger. He expects punishment. He expects the worst version of the story.
But what happens is grace. Esau runs. Esau embraces. Esau weeps.
It’s such a reminder that life is never frozen in time. We are always changing, evolving, learning. People change. Hearts soften. God works in the hidden places where we assume nothing is happening. And every new day is proof of that. The sunrise is a blank canvas, a fresh stretch of mercy. We wake up and we get to create again.
And that creation matters, because we are always creating something. With our words, we create peace or we create conflict. With our choices, we create life or we create destruction. We can create good, we can create evil, or we can create a messy mixture of both. And the sobering truth is that we always have the capacity to do either.
Yet the hope of the gospel is that God never gives up on us in the middle of that process. Even when we fail. Even when our mixture leans dark. Even when we are afraid to face what we’ve done or who we’ve become, God is still waiting, still hoping, still willing to meet us in the desert with something we didn’t think we deserved.
That’s why Jacob’s words hit so deeply, “To see your face is like seeing the face of God.” It’s like Jacob is saying, “I thought I was walking into judgment, but instead I walked into mercy.” That is the great reversal of God. The place of greatest fear becomes the place where love shows up first.
And I can’t read this without thinking of the prodigal son. The same surprise. The same sprint of compassion. The same arms wrapping around someone who expected rejection. To know that what you feared most has been turned on its head and transformed into joy, that is the joy of the Kingdom. That is the heart of God toward us.
Jesus came eating and drinking, a friend of tax collectors and sinners, not because He approved of sin, but because He refused to abandon sinners. He came to mend what is broken and to restore what is lost. He came to reattach hearts to the Father, not through shame, but through love. He came to invite us into the greatest treasure in the universe, not a better circumstance, not a cleaner reputation, but the Spirit of God Himself.
So today is another canvas. Another chance. Another choice. And no matter what yesterday looked like, God is still reaching. Still inviting. Still ready to embrace. Still saying, “Come home.”
“But while he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him.21“The son said to him, ‘Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son.’22“But the father said to his servants, ‘Quick! Bring the best robe and put it on him. Put a ring on his finger and sandals on his feet. 23Bring the fattened calf and kill it. Let’s have a feast and celebrate. 24For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.’ So they began to celebrate.
I love these verses and the reunion of Jacob and Esau. I can only imagine the drama, the tension, and the fear as Jacob crosses the desert while Esau approaches. Jacob has spent years living inside the consequences of his choices, and now the moment he’s dreaded has finally arrived. He expects anger. He expects punishment. He expects the worst version of the story.
But what happens is grace. Esau runs. Esau embraces. Esau weeps.
It’s such a reminder that life is never frozen in time. We are always changing, evolving, learning. People change. Hearts soften. God works in the hidden places where we assume nothing is happening. And every new day is proof of that. The sunrise is a blank canvas, a fresh stretch of mercy. We wake up and we get to create again.
And that creation matters, because we are always creating something. With our words, we create peace or we create conflict. With our choices, we create life or we create destruction. We can create good, we can create evil, or we can create a messy mixture of both. And the sobering truth is that we always have the capacity to do either.
Yet the hope of the gospel is that God never gives up on us in the middle of that process. Even when we fail. Even when our mixture leans dark. Even when we are afraid to face what we’ve done or who we’ve become, God is still waiting, still hoping, still willing to meet us in the desert with something we didn’t think we deserved.
That’s why Jacob’s words hit so deeply, “To see your face is like seeing the face of God.” It’s like Jacob is saying, “I thought I was walking into judgment, but instead I walked into mercy.” That is the great reversal of God. The place of greatest fear becomes the place where love shows up first.
And I can’t read this without thinking of the prodigal son. The same surprise. The same sprint of compassion. The same arms wrapping around someone who expected rejection. To know that what you feared most has been turned on its head and transformed into joy, that is the joy of the Kingdom. That is the heart of God toward us.
Jesus came eating and drinking, a friend of tax collectors and sinners, not because He approved of sin, but because He refused to abandon sinners. He came to mend what is broken and to restore what is lost. He came to reattach hearts to the Father, not through shame, but through love. He came to invite us into the greatest treasure in the universe, not a better circumstance, not a cleaner reputation, but the Spirit of God Himself.
So today is another canvas. Another chance. Another choice. And no matter what yesterday looked like, God is still reaching. Still inviting. Still ready to embrace. Still saying, “Come home.”
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