I ache. Ache from the pain I’ve caused my husband. Ache from my failures as a mother. Ache for the pain of Jesus reflected in their eyes. A deep, agonizing ache so painful I can barely breathe sometimes. It pours out as I lay before my Jesus stripped bare of pretense and false bravado. I have wept like a woman drowning in sorrow.
And I have found peace. Jesus has held me, carried me, lifted me to a place of grace and forgiveness. Mercy so sweet I weep all the more because I don’t deserve one bit of it. But he loves me anyway. Despite my ugly sins, my marred spirit, blackened heart. He washes me clean; clothes me in white.
How precious are you, Lord? You, who has brought me out of darkness. Surrounded me with such peace I can hardly fathom it’s depths. Thank you, Jesus. You are my God, and I will worship you as long as I have breath.
“We write because we love words and the relief it is to just write them without worrying if they’re just right or not. So we take five minutes on Friday and write like we used to finger paint. For joy in the process. No matter how messy the result.”