Crazy love

So here I am, overwhelmed once again by the love that others have for me right now. Be it my family, my youth group kids, or friends that I've lost touch with recently, I'm feeling it. It's been one of those years where my life's expectations have lowered drastically- I've come to appreciate small packages coming my way and every ounce of feeling loved on a daily basis, even though it comes from someone unexpected.
A pastor from home put it this way last night from Anne Lamott's Blue Shoe, which made me think about how I'm always looking for it elsewhere:

When her mother comes to comfort her, the girl said she was too afraid of the dark to sleep. “But God is with you, protecting you,” said mom.
The little girl whimpered, “but I need someone with skin on.”

And I'm reading Stones for Schools, which I cannot get enough of after Three Cups of Tea:

So for me, THE LAST BEST PLACE sticker on my briefcase doesn't represent a slogan or a marketing campaign to promote the wonders of my home. Instead, those words affirm my beliefs that the people who live in the last places- the people who are most neglected and least valued by the larger world- often represent the best of who we are and the finest standard of what we are to become. This is the power that last places hold over me and why I have found it impossible to resist their pull.

It's Francis Chan's book that gave me the idea for this blog post, as I'm trying to reconcile all of these "crazy love" things that I've learned from childhood and am trying to apply to life as an adult living in San Francisco. I am loved, I just have to remember that.