Oh!

I want out. I want out of my mindset, of my opinions, of my prejudices.

The hero that was supposed to rescue me can flit and fade across the movie screen, in all his brawn and bravado, brandishing his weapons.

There are other sorts of heroes - 

The sorts of heroes that understand that sanity is weakness and madness is strength. They have dreams, and they rebuild temples; their ideals are loftier than the mountains which they foolishly attempt to climb… They try to remind me that the fruits in the apple cart are not apples but oranges, and the apple cart should probably be blown to smithereens instead of merely “upset.”

The world does not understand, and will always undermine, the kingdom from which these heroes come. The world kills them, because they simply cannot exist here – they do not belong.

And always, always, the unyielding faithfulness and grace of God will exist to save us – but never in the way that we predict, never in the way that we could readily accept.

The grace of God comes out of nowhere. The grace of God hurtles past us, mounted upon a ragged horse, shouting battle cries at windmills. The grace of God is a thirty-something whack job from Nowheresville, Israel, who says that life is death and death is life. The grace of God is for those who are foolish enough to forget what’s impossible and embrace what is.