Our family reading last evening carried Christy Huddleston through a crisis of faith in the aftermath of a close friend's death. The final words of the chapter that documented her struggle were powerful.
No effort was made to answer my, "why?". Instead, I began to know, incredibly, unmistakably, beyond reason and beyond doubting that I, Christy Huddleston, was loved - tenderly, totally. Love filled me, washed over me, flowed around me. I did not know what to do with love as strong as this. Back off from its intensity? Embrace it?
My tears flowed, I could not stop them.
Then the thought came: wasn't this the confirmation for which I had asked? This love disclosing itself was no cosmic Creator of a mechanistic universe, for the revelation was intimate, personal. Perhaps the assurance always has to be personal, revealed to the inner person alone, since only man sees other men en masse, whereas God insists on seeing us one by one, each a special case, each inestimably beloved for himself. (Catherine Marshall, Christy