Why is it that we can see God’s work in the lives others better than in our own?

Part of it has to be distance. I’m not slugging through the minutia of my friends’ every day lives. I’m not there second by second but rather, story by story, catching the bullet points and witnessing the high and low lights.

That’s definitely part of it, but if I’m honest to the point that it hurts, I think we see God working more in the lives of others because we sometimes believe that God doesn’t love us like he does everyone else.

We think we won’t receive the same blessing, attention and care because we are us. We allow ourselves to believe that we are the exception to His grace and promise and love.

I’ve been there.

I’ve been there lately.

A few years ago, I was in the middle of John Eldredge’s Beautiful Outlaw, a book that looks at the character of Jesus, when I read the following: “He ‘speaks’ to me through hearts. I’ll find stones in the shape of hearts in rivers where I’m fishing. I’ve seen them almost step-by-step up a mountainside when on a grueling climb. Praying in the morning I’ll look out the window and passing by will be a heart-shaped cloud. Dinner rolls, seashells, stains on my jeans. I’ve won the lottery when it comes to hearts form Jesus.”

Reading that, I had two immdediate thoughts. First, How amazing that God does that for him,  and then just a breath later, That would never happen to me.

What is that? How quickly I accept God’s love in the life of someone else, but push back from it in my own.

A few weeks later, I turned 24. While celebrating a birthday in Paris is many people’s dream – yes, mine too – both birthdays I spent there were striking reminders of just how far I was from home. They were hard days during which I ached to be with the people who knew me best. Days during which I was acutely aware of how seperated I was from the life I had always known. And on days like those, even a twinkling Eiffel Tower is a fifth place consolation prize. Some days, there is simply no substitute for the company of those who know and love you well.

So, on my birthday, in a hope for distraction, I went with a friend to Montmartre, a twisty, turny neighborhood at the top of the city.  And there, just behind Sacre Coeur, under the January, gray sky and over a grate in the street, while waiting for our vin chaud from a street vendor, I saw it.

A multi-colored, confetti heart.

It was bright. It was playful. It was a party.

A stroke of brilliant, birthday perfection that was so me and so Him.

 

On a day when all I wanted were the people who know and love me the most, He proved that he knows and loves me the best. All I could do was look down, smile and know that, yes, He would do that for me.

And from that day on, my path was littered with hearts. Paint splatters on the sidewalk, puddles in the street, leaves, rocks, coffee stains on the counter – I could hardly walk to class or even to the grocery store without finding one waiting for me. Always completely in my way, they were unmissabls declarations that He was there with me in that city. In a season dually marked by independance and lonliness, His hearts and His presence echoed what I was learning every day: that his love for me is great and the way he loves me is creatively matched to who he created me to be.

A stain on his jeans? That may be John Eldredge, but multi-colored confetti? That’s totally Caitlin Rodgers.

It’s an easy thing to shrug off and an easy thing to explain away. I could say, that’s just a puddle, that’s just a spill – but to do that, that would be to throw a gift from the Creator of the universe right back in his face. That would be flicking it away with a look of disgust.

There’s a force that so strongly, so desperately wants us to distrust Him and his love. To believe because we are simply us, that His love does not apply to our lives. No, I know that his love is boundless. He always comes for those who love Him, and even better, seeks them out before they call. Over and over, He goes before me and sets hearts in my path. In a city of millions, he orchestrated tiny notes to be left for me – just me. And if it’s not hearts, it’s words from a friend or a stranger. It’s a sunset or a song. There is always something, because he is always loving us. Always. His hearts shattered any truth to me being the exception.

I’m starting to realize, increasingly so, how little I understand or accept God’s love for me. I know He does – but knowing and believing are sometimes two very different things. Part of me is upset or even a little ashamed because I feel like I should have this down. I’m the girl who grew up in Sunday School and went on mission trips and lives with a family that loves the Lord – this should be a given. But what I have noticed in the past months is how often I push away from His light, comfort and attention. And my prayer for the last few months has been for God to teach me and help me to understand his love for me.

If there’s something I’ve learned, it’s that if I feel a certain way, there are others who feel the same – and the lie that we are alone is so very dangerous. I am not the exception and neither are you. His love comes for us. His love exceeds and surrounds us.

I am not the exception – He loves me. I am not the exception – He has work and plans for me. I am not the exception – He comes for me – in all ways and shapes – most especially, it seems, in hearts.