When I need to talk to You, I fall to my knees and can't wait a minute to open my heart to you. I'm usually desperate. And You bend Your ear to it, as if You couldn't tell the story far better Yourself.
I was so excited to share something with a friend today. Aching, bursting. And after too many days of not calling, not enough reason to, suddenly today it killed me that her phone just hummed until the voice mail clicked on. The difference between words being left unsaid or not, is in the needing to speak them.
Sometimes my needs are cumbersome and weighty, and sometimes, like today-- my need was a burning desire to share joy. Either end is a tipping of the mundane.
How can I make my whole life a conversation-- with Him? For He is an unloading-the-dishwasher-type of Friend, but I feed Him with the pot-roast-dinners-talk, and we stay so one-type-conversationed. And I miss Him in all the other ways He is. He isn't mundane. But He makes my mundane not mundane either. Because He cares about it.
And He doesn't have to knock at my door, drink coffee, and talk for two hours to make me feel less lonely. He can whisper to my heart and do the work in a breath. He can do it over a pile of laundry. If I let my words need speaking. If He is what's urgent. Not me. Otherwise, I let words go unsaid.
But He says my whole life is a conversation. To Him.
"casting all your care upon Him, for He cares for you."
1 Peter 5:7
Together in Grace,
Amy
Because He made my life, It's not about my life, but about my life with Him. About sharing it. And it's worth it to Him. It was worth dying for.
His pain did not last forever. The moment the seal of darkness broke from the tomb, and death no longer held power within, without; He was healed. Yet the scars proved the wounds. His scars bear the only traces of our forgiven sin.
If His wounds were left open...if He lingered at death's door, God's healing work would have been incomplete. And His work was finished. The scars can hurt Him no more.
Usually it's my most painful wounds that scar. Or most shameful. Or most careless. And long before the wounds heal, they fester.
There's Balm in Gilead. And when He heals, wounds become scars that prove the Healer and the scars, prove the healing work of His, and it's beautiful-- like scars over a pregnant womb. And when they no longer hurt, the healing is work is finished. And because His wounds healed, so can mine. That's what makes His scars so beautiful.
God could have healed Jesus while he was taken from the cross-- in the sight of all; could have healed Him on the first day. Yet He did heal Him on the third day. Quietly. It took patient waiting, and it was perfect timing. Christ placed His life and death in His Father's will.
Beautiful scars that were once wounds remind me of His love today. Just as His love reminds me that my wounds are what His scars stand for.
And because we live in a world with jagged edges-- a Savior who binds wounds will always be what we need.
And nothing will be more beautiful than His scars.
Together in grace,
Amy
