Inherent Images of a Scandalous God

“What if there is something inherently delightful about you?”

Something about the time it was said, the right moment with the right expression, me in the right place to hear it – the words carried a weight with them, a punch, a cut piercing through my defenses, past all the filters, the walls, the intellectual rationalization.

Delight is a scandalous word. It is risky. It is near. It is seen, exposed, known. And it can be described in no other way than with the word grace. That moment where the unexpected, what you would never think or believe could or ever would happen, actually coming about.

It feels like a girl who you notice, who just makes you weak. It has nothing to do with what she says, but how she says it. It has nothing to do with what she does, but who she simply is. You delight in her. But you pretty much think there is no way things could happen between you. Or don’t want to hope that much because it hurts too much to hope like that, that someone you delight in so much would actually delight in you. And then, out of nowhere, she comes, and she says that she doesn’t simply think you are a nice guy, or do nice things. She says she is made weak by you. She says that she just can’t seem to control herself, that you make her anxious, you change her breathing, that you move her. Not in something that you do, but in simply who you are. She says that she delights, in you.

That is where you say, “Wait, hold on. This can’t be happening. This is too good to be true. I don't know if I can simply sit in this joy. There has to be a catch. I’m just not that great. I just don’t think I could actually be delighted in, especially by someone who seems just so delightful. Me? Really?”

"Yes, you. What if there is something inherently delightful about you?"

That is a scandalous statement.