There are moments in life when things make no sense and are uncertain, and confuse, hurting deep parts within. When things painful and things cruel and things unthoughtful and things ignorant and sometimes even things innocent, enter intimate sphere.
Times when minutes still and slow and when heart hurts in spills and floods, when heaviness leans down thick and thoughts are of how to get out of bed, get dressed, get fed, how to get through each craving hour. When the hurt dulls and hiding seems the only relief. Hours of dragging one lead-filled foot after the other.
And the words so often spoken, “Christian, press in! Press in to Christ,” cut deeper and ache colder and leave a layer of guilt to blanket the rest. Words that cause running from, hiding, deflecting, anything but to suffocate under the wool of guilt.
And God, glorious, holy, enthroned on high; God, Abba and Father, runs toward suffocating hearts. Gleaming in splendor and aching compassion His far to large finger begs to lift the guilt away, to unwrap the suffocation and to hold the hurting one. To bring the dulling heart near to His own, beating, thrumming, longing one. To comfort. To heal, protect, restore and reassure.
His eyes blaze fire, impassioned with Love. He is fierce. He is Tender. Mercy. Kind. Compassion.
He looks on those He has made, shaped, molded and known before they were knit together in secret, looks on them and longs for them. A longing so bold, so desperate, from the Love He is and knows, so Holy and perfect – reaching and bending down, desire encapsulated. Willing to lay down is Life just for the chance to be near.
Just for the chance that we, in our aching agony might not resist His tender touch. That we, in our puffed up troubles might be drawn in by His kindness, might be captivated by His gentleness – should we release the blanket of guilt. Should we release it, He made all possible. Knowing us, knowing Him. Comfort, peace. A place to rest free from the burdens of running or pressing.
Just so we may know: there is hope for the weary, the hurting, the heavy. Hope not in pressing or striving or even in believing, but just in being. For the One who made you knows you. The One who knows you can be trusted to accept you, simply as you are.
He sees. He knows. He accepts.
“…I have called you by name; you are mine.” ~ Isaiah 43:1b