“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.

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.

A beautiful mess?  That is an oxymoron of my hyper organized personality. My brain wants to believe messes mean one thing. .