I think there's a moment in every woman's life when she hits the end of her resources. The final straw is laid across her back and she falters. As she tries to stumble forward, all she can do is look back and around. She realizes she can't see love. The glory and fullness she's always yearned for has never arrived. Is she a failure? Or is this just life?
It's a frightening moment, because...if this is all there is, how will she keep going?
She might reach out - call a friend, talk to a husband, hug a child... But the friend says "I know what you mean..." then talks about herself. The husband says "Here's the solution..." but his solution won't work. And the child...the child doesn't understand what Mom really needs.
She is left alone. She doesn't feel valued. She's afraid, and angry, perhaps guilty, always in despair. And if she knows of God, she looks skyward through tears, or curses through clenched teeth, and rails at Him. Doesn't He always speak of love? Where is it? She can't see it. She doesn't feel it. And in fact, the weight of this life is dragging her to her knees.
Is this what He wants for her? Of her?
What kind of love is that?
For me that moment occurred in my late twenties. Oh, I'd hit crisis plenty of times before that - but I'd never completely lost my hope. In fact, until that moment I'd always looked forward, striven, determined that things could get better if I could just...
But there was a moment when the hurt became too much. When the pain of unmet expectations was overwhelming. When I feared that this was truly all there would ever be - and I wasn't equal to the task of living through it.
I'd been hammered by my own sin. Flayed by infertility. Broken by the flawed love of other broken hearts.
It wasn't enough.
I came to God with a heart that was broken in grief and failure, fearful and in despair. I threw that torn and bleeding heart at His feet and said "You tell me You're the answer to this? Well, fix it!" In anger and fear and resignation, I told Him I'd do whatever He wanted if He would just please, please, make it better. But He'd better move fast, because I didn't have anything left.
And then I folded my arms, blinked back tears, and waited.
For about three seconds.
The first thing He did was pick up my heart and hold it close. His tears surprised me. He said, "I know how it feels."
He spoke to me of the love He felt every moment as He watched me - how He'd sent Himself down, become human, endured the rejection, the hate, the pain, the limitation for me. He told me that as He was pierced and scorned and flayed, He'd seen my face and said to Himself "You're worth it."
As He spoke, He pointed to the oldest of the wounds on my poor, helpless heart. He said "I was there when you started to believe you couldn't be loved. I wept because I love you more than my own life." Tears shone in His eyes, but His smile was gentle and warm. His finger followed the old, scarred, twisted cut that came close to tearing my poor heart in two, and while I watched, the edges of the gash began to draw together.
I gasped.
There is a moment when wounded flesh knits and the bleeding is stemmed - it comes close to pain. But it feels good, because it is right and it helps, and I am made stronger.
As His finger traced the last of that gash and my heart became more whole, a tiny curl of warmth and hope was left in its place. I stepped closer to Him, wanted to see what else He might do.
He chuckled and said "We're just getting started, Daughter."
He turned my heart in His great hands, revealing the hole that ached for a child of my own.
I flinched. "We can talk about that one later."
He shook His head. "It pains you. I hurt with you. We'll talk about it now."
I wanted to step away again - what if He was going to tell me that motherhood would never be a part of my life? That His "great plan" included glory in absence of family? But before I could move He caught my arm and held me tight. "Just listen," He said.
Then he told me of the son He'd born - the shining delight of His existence. The proudest moment. The piece of Himself made flesh. He told me of the pride and the joy and the beauty of it all. And I was jealous.
"You had that. You understand why I want it!" I accused Him with pointed fingers and stamping feet.
He nodded and stroked my face. "My son is my greatest glory," He said. "And I gave Him up for you."
And through my gaping silence He told me about the day when He had to watch His glorious, beautiful, perfect son be beaten, flayed, ridiculed, and murdered. He told me of the moment He'd severed the relationship with His heir - turned His back and allowed His gorgeous son to be blamed, punished, killed for things He'd never done.
My Heavenly Father wept when He recounted the moment of separation - the cutting off of a piece of Himself. How His son couldn't bear it and cried out "Father! Father! Why have you left me here alone?!" How He'd turned away so His son could save me. How His son understood that, and took the burden willingly, despite the unbearable weight.
And oh, I felt so small in that moment. So full of nothing and worthlessness. But He shook his head and said sharply "No! This is not about your failure - it's about my gift." And He opened my eyes so I could see His love - His shining, precious, cherishing love, that valued me so much, I was worth His sacrifice.
"You're my daughter," He whispered. "I would do anything for you."
And as I cried into his chest, He said "I want you to know, I've felt your pain. I'm not asking more of you than I have been willing to give. Trust me." Then He touched the hole in my heart that ached for a child, and it was closed, gone, as if it had never been. "Trust me," He said, with a promise in his voice.
I sagged against Him. My heart was healing. My hope returning. But my flesh still dragged at me.
So He held me, placed my heart back in my own hands, and began to talk to me about all the little crevices, all the scars, all the weeping wounds. And one by one, by one, they began to heal.
He showed me the cut made by a man who'd told me I wasn't loveable. "Wrong," He said. "Look at what I've done for you - would I do that for someone who couldn't be loved?"
I shook my head and smiled through my tears as the cut knitted together.
He pointed to the numerous holes made in hate from people who despised me. "Their pain is greater," He said as he touched each one and it closed under his finger. "Forgive them." And most of the time I could.
He laid His palm over the scars created by family and friends, people who'd loved me imperfectly, yet tried to mold my heart into a different shape - a shape to suit themselves. "I made your heart just as it is. You are perfect to me, Daughter. Utterly unique. There is no one like you. You are special. Let your heart retain the shape I gave it. Let no one but Me change it." And I felt the scars fade, and the wounds close. And my heart gave a great thump under his palm, and He laughed. "Revel in yourself," He said quietly. "Because I made you to be that way."
My tears began to fade because my heart was healing - instead of the constant leaking flow, constant loss, I was being filled. I was finding hope and joy and purpose. I began to look for the wounds myself and point them out to Him. "Do this one next!"
And He did.
And if there were a few scars, a few holes that I preferred to ignore, for a while He let me do it. He showed me time and time and time again that He was bigger, stronger, more wonderful than any of the wounds within me.
Slowly, gratefully, I began to believe Him.
And so the day came when I couldn't ignore those tiny knife-wounds any longer.
Fear returned, but I had learned His comfort. I pressed close to Him and He held me, let me whisper in His ear as I pointed with a trembling finger, "What about this one?"
His face became thoughtful as he regarded the hole I'd brought to Him - the fine, piercing wound, one of many that peppered the surface of my heart.
"That, Daughter, is the one that pains me most," He said. "That is where you took the knife to yourself."
Then He spoke to me of wisdom and understanding. Of truth that stands tall and impenetrable, no matter what is thrown at it. Of the reality of the life I led, and the moments when I turned my back on Him and chose what He'd warned me against.
"It's time for you to understand love," He said.
I was confused. "But I do now! I've seen your sacrifice! I've seen how you treasure me! I've seen so much I couldn't see before!"
He touched my face and smiled. "Now I want you to see that I know more than you can ever know. That I love greater than you will ever love. That I understand all of it - and would never choose the wrong path for you. Now I want you to trust me more than you trust yourself."
Then He touched the hole I'd brought Him, and it closed. And I realized, that was the hole that had hurt most of all.
"Thank you," I breathed, regarding my heart with wonder. There were still many of those tiny slices, but I knew He could heal them. And I was so happy.
My Father smiled, then sighed. "Daughter, I will do that for you every day. Every moment. Every breath. My son has paid the price for those wounds, so I can take them from you."
Then He tapped my heart time after time after time, removing my sin and rebellion. And even as I wept for the pain He was taking for me, I was filled with joy.
"I'm sorry," I told Him.
He pulled me close and rested His great chin on my head.
God hugged me.
And from that day on my heart was whole. Filled. Vibrant. Alive.
I found laughter again. I found hope. I discovered purpose. I was filled to overflowing with His love. I no longer needed to suck dry the people around me, because His affection fulfilled every need and then some. I was able to take all the love He could give - more than I needed! - and share it with others.
I became a vessel filled to brimming, and when others bumped into me, some of Him spilled out.
I was changed. I was filled. I was right.
So every day since that day I approach Him again - sometimes with resigned apologies, other times with tears or fear. Always, always He touches my heart and heals it. Always He loves better than I can understand. Always He has the answers.
He is truly wondrous. He is utterly amazing. He is my God. He is King. But most importantly, He is "Daddy".
The only thing that is broken now, is me; I am broken by His love. I am broken by His perfection. I am shattered by the value He places on my heart.
I have found myself in Him. And I love me because He does. When I am wrong, I cry at His feet. When the world hurts me, I throw myself into His hug.
His arms are a wonderful place to live. The very best place to live.
Come join me here. You won't regret it.
Psalm 33:13-14
"The Lord looks down from heaven and sees the whole human race. From his throne he observes all who live on the earth. He made their hearts so he understands everything they do."
II Corinthians 5:19
"For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people's sins against them. This is the wonderful message he has given us to tell others."
It's a frightening moment, because...if this is all there is, how will she keep going?
She might reach out - call a friend, talk to a husband, hug a child... But the friend says "I know what you mean..." then talks about herself. The husband says "Here's the solution..." but his solution won't work. And the child...the child doesn't understand what Mom really needs.
She is left alone. She doesn't feel valued. She's afraid, and angry, perhaps guilty, always in despair. And if she knows of God, she looks skyward through tears, or curses through clenched teeth, and rails at Him. Doesn't He always speak of love? Where is it? She can't see it. She doesn't feel it. And in fact, the weight of this life is dragging her to her knees.
Is this what He wants for her? Of her?
What kind of love is that?
For me that moment occurred in my late twenties. Oh, I'd hit crisis plenty of times before that - but I'd never completely lost my hope. In fact, until that moment I'd always looked forward, striven, determined that things could get better if I could just...
But there was a moment when the hurt became too much. When the pain of unmet expectations was overwhelming. When I feared that this was truly all there would ever be - and I wasn't equal to the task of living through it.
I'd been hammered by my own sin. Flayed by infertility. Broken by the flawed love of other broken hearts.
It wasn't enough.
I came to God with a heart that was broken in grief and failure, fearful and in despair. I threw that torn and bleeding heart at His feet and said "You tell me You're the answer to this? Well, fix it!" In anger and fear and resignation, I told Him I'd do whatever He wanted if He would just please, please, make it better. But He'd better move fast, because I didn't have anything left.
And then I folded my arms, blinked back tears, and waited.
For about three seconds.
The first thing He did was pick up my heart and hold it close. His tears surprised me. He said, "I know how it feels."
He spoke to me of the love He felt every moment as He watched me - how He'd sent Himself down, become human, endured the rejection, the hate, the pain, the limitation for me. He told me that as He was pierced and scorned and flayed, He'd seen my face and said to Himself "You're worth it."
As He spoke, He pointed to the oldest of the wounds on my poor, helpless heart. He said "I was there when you started to believe you couldn't be loved. I wept because I love you more than my own life." Tears shone in His eyes, but His smile was gentle and warm. His finger followed the old, scarred, twisted cut that came close to tearing my poor heart in two, and while I watched, the edges of the gash began to draw together.
I gasped.
There is a moment when wounded flesh knits and the bleeding is stemmed - it comes close to pain. But it feels good, because it is right and it helps, and I am made stronger.
As His finger traced the last of that gash and my heart became more whole, a tiny curl of warmth and hope was left in its place. I stepped closer to Him, wanted to see what else He might do.
He chuckled and said "We're just getting started, Daughter."
He turned my heart in His great hands, revealing the hole that ached for a child of my own.
I flinched. "We can talk about that one later."
He shook His head. "It pains you. I hurt with you. We'll talk about it now."
I wanted to step away again - what if He was going to tell me that motherhood would never be a part of my life? That His "great plan" included glory in absence of family? But before I could move He caught my arm and held me tight. "Just listen," He said.
Then he told me of the son He'd born - the shining delight of His existence. The proudest moment. The piece of Himself made flesh. He told me of the pride and the joy and the beauty of it all. And I was jealous.
"You had that. You understand why I want it!" I accused Him with pointed fingers and stamping feet.
He nodded and stroked my face. "My son is my greatest glory," He said. "And I gave Him up for you."
And through my gaping silence He told me about the day when He had to watch His glorious, beautiful, perfect son be beaten, flayed, ridiculed, and murdered. He told me of the moment He'd severed the relationship with His heir - turned His back and allowed His gorgeous son to be blamed, punished, killed for things He'd never done.
My Heavenly Father wept when He recounted the moment of separation - the cutting off of a piece of Himself. How His son couldn't bear it and cried out "Father! Father! Why have you left me here alone?!" How He'd turned away so His son could save me. How His son understood that, and took the burden willingly, despite the unbearable weight.
And oh, I felt so small in that moment. So full of nothing and worthlessness. But He shook his head and said sharply "No! This is not about your failure - it's about my gift." And He opened my eyes so I could see His love - His shining, precious, cherishing love, that valued me so much, I was worth His sacrifice.
"You're my daughter," He whispered. "I would do anything for you."
And as I cried into his chest, He said "I want you to know, I've felt your pain. I'm not asking more of you than I have been willing to give. Trust me." Then He touched the hole in my heart that ached for a child, and it was closed, gone, as if it had never been. "Trust me," He said, with a promise in his voice.
I sagged against Him. My heart was healing. My hope returning. But my flesh still dragged at me.
So He held me, placed my heart back in my own hands, and began to talk to me about all the little crevices, all the scars, all the weeping wounds. And one by one, by one, they began to heal.
He showed me the cut made by a man who'd told me I wasn't loveable. "Wrong," He said. "Look at what I've done for you - would I do that for someone who couldn't be loved?"
I shook my head and smiled through my tears as the cut knitted together.
He pointed to the numerous holes made in hate from people who despised me. "Their pain is greater," He said as he touched each one and it closed under his finger. "Forgive them." And most of the time I could.
He laid His palm over the scars created by family and friends, people who'd loved me imperfectly, yet tried to mold my heart into a different shape - a shape to suit themselves. "I made your heart just as it is. You are perfect to me, Daughter. Utterly unique. There is no one like you. You are special. Let your heart retain the shape I gave it. Let no one but Me change it." And I felt the scars fade, and the wounds close. And my heart gave a great thump under his palm, and He laughed. "Revel in yourself," He said quietly. "Because I made you to be that way."
My tears began to fade because my heart was healing - instead of the constant leaking flow, constant loss, I was being filled. I was finding hope and joy and purpose. I began to look for the wounds myself and point them out to Him. "Do this one next!"
And He did.
And if there were a few scars, a few holes that I preferred to ignore, for a while He let me do it. He showed me time and time and time again that He was bigger, stronger, more wonderful than any of the wounds within me.
Slowly, gratefully, I began to believe Him.
And so the day came when I couldn't ignore those tiny knife-wounds any longer.
Fear returned, but I had learned His comfort. I pressed close to Him and He held me, let me whisper in His ear as I pointed with a trembling finger, "What about this one?"
His face became thoughtful as he regarded the hole I'd brought to Him - the fine, piercing wound, one of many that peppered the surface of my heart.
"That, Daughter, is the one that pains me most," He said. "That is where you took the knife to yourself."
Then He spoke to me of wisdom and understanding. Of truth that stands tall and impenetrable, no matter what is thrown at it. Of the reality of the life I led, and the moments when I turned my back on Him and chose what He'd warned me against.
"It's time for you to understand love," He said.
I was confused. "But I do now! I've seen your sacrifice! I've seen how you treasure me! I've seen so much I couldn't see before!"
He touched my face and smiled. "Now I want you to see that I know more than you can ever know. That I love greater than you will ever love. That I understand all of it - and would never choose the wrong path for you. Now I want you to trust me more than you trust yourself."
Then He touched the hole I'd brought Him, and it closed. And I realized, that was the hole that had hurt most of all.
"Thank you," I breathed, regarding my heart with wonder. There were still many of those tiny slices, but I knew He could heal them. And I was so happy.
My Father smiled, then sighed. "Daughter, I will do that for you every day. Every moment. Every breath. My son has paid the price for those wounds, so I can take them from you."
Then He tapped my heart time after time after time, removing my sin and rebellion. And even as I wept for the pain He was taking for me, I was filled with joy.
"I'm sorry," I told Him.
He pulled me close and rested His great chin on my head.
God hugged me.
And from that day on my heart was whole. Filled. Vibrant. Alive.
I found laughter again. I found hope. I discovered purpose. I was filled to overflowing with His love. I no longer needed to suck dry the people around me, because His affection fulfilled every need and then some. I was able to take all the love He could give - more than I needed! - and share it with others.
I became a vessel filled to brimming, and when others bumped into me, some of Him spilled out.
I was changed. I was filled. I was right.
So every day since that day I approach Him again - sometimes with resigned apologies, other times with tears or fear. Always, always He touches my heart and heals it. Always He loves better than I can understand. Always He has the answers.
He is truly wondrous. He is utterly amazing. He is my God. He is King. But most importantly, He is "Daddy".
The only thing that is broken now, is me; I am broken by His love. I am broken by His perfection. I am shattered by the value He places on my heart.
I have found myself in Him. And I love me because He does. When I am wrong, I cry at His feet. When the world hurts me, I throw myself into His hug.
His arms are a wonderful place to live. The very best place to live.
Come join me here. You won't regret it.
Psalm 33:13-14
"The Lord looks down from heaven and sees the whole human race. From his throne he observes all who live on the earth. He made their hearts so he understands everything they do."
II Corinthians 5:19
"For God was in Christ, reconciling the world to himself, no longer counting people's sins against them. This is the wonderful message he has given us to tell others."
