It seems almost that we were born to die, so that we could rise again to Life that is fuller, freer, more alive than ever we have known- so alive, in fact, that the life we lived before seems death, in the shadow of Resurrection.
I don't know why it should strike so foreign in my heart. The seed was born to be buried in the ground, that the Sycamore might live. The acorn's life seems brief- yet it bears within its finitude the potential to live on in the Oak for centuries.
So in all these struggles, purpose can be found. That's not necessarily to say they were set in motion by God- who knows His mind? I am persuaded that He never desired we should suffer so. Yet there's a strange, unknowable paradox in the Fall; that its redemption so far outshines the original as to make their respective beauties incomparable.
Thoughts spurred by a letter to a friend.
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