Thank You

Lord… Jesus…

I love this beautiful life you’ve given me. I can’t believe how lovely it is. How good it tastes. How healed and whole you’re making me.

It really is so incredible.

Like how you called strong winds and rains across the Arizona desert and called an 82 year old Gramma out into it all with an umbrella and how she ignored the thought of leaving the umbrella inside. And how you sat there with her on the went ground in the middle of the rain and held her, broken, wind-cracked, arm and all, while the blasted umbrella blew off down the street.  And how that bone-breaking moment was the answer to her prayers (in disguise): the ones she prayed asking you to change her a little bit more because even an 82 year old heart still has some healing left to do. Even if it takes something breaking to do it.

Thank you for the brokenness made beautiful. I love to see it sparkle.

And how you saw that tear-stained, broken, beaten down 19 year old girl way over in Texas and knew that what she needed to be healed was to help heal something else that was broken (why not an 82 year old arm?). And how you backed her into a corner and took away all other options until all she had left to do was give in and play Jesus for awhile – broken heart, broken will and all. And how you got her on a plane three weeks later (and had her sit next to Betty Anne who works with the elderly for a living) and got her right down, in the middle of the desert, on her knees washing her Grandparents feet until Gramma had both arms back so she could do it herself.  Because you knew that was the only way I’d get my eyes off my own self pity long enough for you to get to work (undercover) healing my soul. You are the great physician and so you healed me while you taught me how to heal.

Thank you.

And how, after I’d learned a bit about dying and giving in and letting go, you led me even higher up the mountain of your love. How, after a time of just serving, just serving, just serving, you taught me how to dance. I’ve never been good at dancing, but you grabbed my hand and pulled me off the floor I was scrubbing (I thought that’s all you’d ever ask me to do and I was finally ok with that) and you bought me some new clothes. Took me to get my hair done. And then took me out on the town.  (Who knew you could love me like that? And all this time I thought that’s all you wanted from me -  to be down on the floor, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing…) And maybe it’s because you finally had me all to yourself after all the times of trying to yell over all the other voices, but I finally decided to listen to what you had to say to me. (I kept half expecting you to tell me to get back in the kitchen, in the laundry room, in the [anywhere dirty and in need of a good cleaning]…) But you never did tell me any of those things. Not even close. And all the while you were so patient.

Thank you.

You never got angry when I didn’t believe what you kept trying to tell me. You never got frustrated with how deaf I was. You never gave up – all this time you never gave up. You just kept whispering “Peace, peace, peace, peace”. And when I started believing that you meant it – that you really wanted peace for me, and rest – then you started with another set of words. “Beauty, beauty, beauty.”  Those ones took me longer to believe -  that you thought I was beautiful. I sure didn’t believe it myself. But I’d seen what believing your “Peace” had done to my soul, so I kept on listening. Until one day I decided to take you up on it. And to believe that you’re not a liar. And that you think I’m beautiful.

You’ve said I am beautiful. You’ve stolen my heart…

It couldn’t get any better than this.

Then I heard you start to whisper again, “grace, grace, grace.” And this is the one I’m still trying to walk into. This promise of grace. This promise that my beauty does not come from what I do and how much I impact anything, anyone. That nothing I do will ever make me more beautiful in your eyes than I am right now. Right now. Right now. That I’m beautiful right now. That all you want is my heart (not my check list check off and checked off and checked off and checked off…). And that fuller peace is coming as soon as I believe this.

Wow. Teach me to walk this word (this promise) out. How do I step in the footprints of Grace?

“You don’t my precious one. I step in them for you. All you have to do is just let me carry you. This is Grace. Letting me carry you.”

…wow…..

Please, carry me.

“For the Lord God is a sun and shield; the Lord bestows favor and honor. No good thing does he withhold from those who walk uprightly.” Psalm 85:11

“But now thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel: ‘Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name, you are mine.’” Isaiah 43:1