I watched my eight-year-old son carry his Bible into the dining room before resting it on the table. He slid into an empty chair and opened to the index. I looked up from the salad I was tossing on the counter.

“Hey, buddy. Whatcha doing?”

Nate frowned. “I have been feeling bad lately about not reading my Bible like I should.” His expression brightened into earnest fervor. “So I’m going to start reading my Bible every single day.”

Oh, how I love his tender heart. I smiled. “Good idea! Where are you going to start? Genesis maybe?”

“Nah.” He ran his finger down the index and tapped the page. “I’ve read Genesis so I thought I should read a book I haven’t read before.” He looked up and beamed. “Right here. I’m going to start with Hosea.”

I tried to keep my eyes from bugging out but am pretty sure I failed. Hosea? My sweet little boy was going to read about a prophet who was instructed by God to marry a prostitute? I mentally cringed. That would bring up all kinds of questions. Hard questions. Uncomfortable ones. How do you explain what a prostitute is to an eight-year-old? I mentally sorted through my memories from when I’d last read Hosea. Wasn’t the word whore used in it? Like a lot?

But how do you tell a child of a God-fearing family not to read the Bible? That day, Nate and I read through the first chapter of Hosea and I did my best to explain some heavy topics. And you know what? We survived.

I’ve watched the recent uproar over the movie release of Francine Rivers’ Redeeming Love and have scratched my head. Why the vitriol? I mean, I get it on one hand. The story was inspired by the book of Hosea. Not the most wholesome story in the world. But it’s truth. It’s God’s Word. And it’s a stunning picture of redemption.

The Bible is not rated G. It never was. Somewhere along the way, we’ve gotten so many warm fuzzies from elementary Sunday School that we forget God’s Word is filled with incest, murder, prostitution, and adultery. And all of it is meant to instruct and reveal God’s plan to redeem the broken.

I’ve come to the conclusion that I would rather have hard, truthful conversations than easy, comfortable ones. Why? Because that’s where we learn the depth of our need for a Savior. If you want easy, turn on Veggietales. And hey, even they don’t get it right sometimes. Do you know how many times I’ve argued with toddlers because they are convinced the soldiers of Jericho poured slushies over the heads of the Israelites?

I’m going to say something controversial, and many will disagree with me. That’s okay. I love folks whether they agree with me or not. Are you ready? Here it comes…

Do you know what the problem is with Redeeming Love? It’s truthful.

Oh, Hollywood is going to be Hollywood. No mistaking that. When showing the beginning of scenes between two married people, they could have edited it to be a bit shorter. But you know what? Married people have sex. (Gasp!) And God was the one who designed it. With all the outrage, I have to wonder how many Christians refuse to read the Song of Solomon.

Redeeming Love shows the depths of sin we are all prone to. It reveals the stark ugliness of a life apart from God. And it beautifully displays the all-consuming God Whose love is greater than our mistakes.

Critics are declaring it soft porn. Such a claim reveals the heart of the accusers. Each of us struggle with sin and each of us has our own area that is harder to overcome than the others. But truth is truth. Declaring truth cannot make someone sin. Instead, it cuts to the marrow to reveal the shadows lurking in our own hearts. It divides. It confronts. Truth is good about that.

Should everyone watch Redeeming Love? No. I believe it’s a picture best painted for the older and more mature. And aesthetically? It won’t be everyone’s cup of tea. That’s why Baskin Robbins has 31 flavors. Some people like rom-coms. Others like adventure stories. There’s a huge chunk of the population that enjoy thrillers. No book, song, story, or painting will appeal to everyone.

But for those who can grasp it, it’s a life changing masterpiece of the God who refuses to let us go.