“I swear to you it was all lies.  I did not do what they said.  I swear I didn’t.”  The words came out as if squeezed out of a balloon held by a clown.  The sound grated on her own ears, so she bit her lip.  I could see the tears falling on the backs of her hands.  I understood completely. I said nothing.  Rather, I got up and entered her pain.

That little unconventional community changed a life, it made it not only better, but through belonging, sweet.  How?  They went and found him in the midst of the mess he had made—and that was no easy task.  It was hard.  It took sacrifice. It was downright painful at times.  It forced the upbraiding of long avoided memories in the community.  The pain of the wounded was simply too familiar.  In Marvel Movie style, during a major, earth altering crisis, the entire group surrou

It was all I could do not to burst into tears.  The music was not fancy. A concert pianist and violist played age old hymns between confession and receiving grace and Bible teaching and ultimately gratefulness for all that had been done by a God so deep in love with people that he refused to give up on even the worst of sinners.

The black sheep may feel unworthy, but there is one who seeks and will find him, bring him home and give him what he has always wanted.