This note was inspired by the Lifehouse video, Everything.
We've all heard the expression, "I'm coming to the end of my rope!" I know I've felt that way at times, and it isn't always a good feeling. Lately though, I've had my perception about this challenged a bit.
Paul and I have certainly had our trials this year. There are days when I know that I just can't handle ONE more thing - and it's those days when God draws near to me and reminds me I'm His. And then there are the days when He gently nudges me back to the broken palces, and together we walk through the disappointments and hurt until they're made perfect in His grace yet again.
In January, we found out my mother in law was sick. It was like a sucker punch to the gut really. Her grace and her incredible faith bears the fruit of His presence within her however, and the last several months have drawn our family closer than ever. We also found out in January that we were expecting again. What was quite the surprise turned into a deep pain when we lost our little one the week before Easter. I'll never understand these things - and I've given up trying. The week after we lost our baby, we were kicked out of our church. Yes, you read that right - kicked out. Like some dark ages ridiculous theological Scarlet Letter. I kid you not. It compounded our loss, and made grieving nearly impossible for many weeks. It seemed just as we were beginning to catch our breath I got whacked with emergency surgery. It just seemed like it wasn't ending at all.
And yet. . .in the midst of all of the loss and the suffering and pain, LOVE perservered. Not the first time I've experienced this, mind you. God reached down, parted the clouds, and sent angels He knew I could recognize and receive from. They took the form of friends with gentle words, lunches with women who knew my pain, knew the words to say, and knew when to just listen. They appeared as neighbors who brought meals and a tender touch, as co workers who simply said, "I'm so sorry."
In those moments when the enemy was stacked so strongly against us, and when the rope seemed to be racing through my hands, I knew still that we weren't alone. And then, throwing down the rope, He stepped in and took upon Himself all of the accusations, all of the pain, the confusion and frustration. And He held it off of me, giving Himself for what I deserved.
I came to the end of my rope, and found there, the One who knows me so completely and yet accepts me so perfectly. The end of the rope isn't a bad thing - getting there, surrendering, reaching out CRYING OUT and grabbing hold and then letting go. . .
Bring on the end of the rope. Any day. I'll take it.
We've all heard the expression, "I'm coming to the end of my rope!" I know I've felt that way at times, and it isn't always a good feeling. Lately though, I've had my perception about this challenged a bit.
Paul and I have certainly had our trials this year. There are days when I know that I just can't handle ONE more thing - and it's those days when God draws near to me and reminds me I'm His. And then there are the days when He gently nudges me back to the broken palces, and together we walk through the disappointments and hurt until they're made perfect in His grace yet again.
In January, we found out my mother in law was sick. It was like a sucker punch to the gut really. Her grace and her incredible faith bears the fruit of His presence within her however, and the last several months have drawn our family closer than ever. We also found out in January that we were expecting again. What was quite the surprise turned into a deep pain when we lost our little one the week before Easter. I'll never understand these things - and I've given up trying. The week after we lost our baby, we were kicked out of our church. Yes, you read that right - kicked out. Like some dark ages ridiculous theological Scarlet Letter. I kid you not. It compounded our loss, and made grieving nearly impossible for many weeks. It seemed just as we were beginning to catch our breath I got whacked with emergency surgery. It just seemed like it wasn't ending at all.
And yet. . .in the midst of all of the loss and the suffering and pain, LOVE perservered. Not the first time I've experienced this, mind you. God reached down, parted the clouds, and sent angels He knew I could recognize and receive from. They took the form of friends with gentle words, lunches with women who knew my pain, knew the words to say, and knew when to just listen. They appeared as neighbors who brought meals and a tender touch, as co workers who simply said, "I'm so sorry."
In those moments when the enemy was stacked so strongly against us, and when the rope seemed to be racing through my hands, I knew still that we weren't alone. And then, throwing down the rope, He stepped in and took upon Himself all of the accusations, all of the pain, the confusion and frustration. And He held it off of me, giving Himself for what I deserved.
I came to the end of my rope, and found there, the One who knows me so completely and yet accepts me so perfectly. The end of the rope isn't a bad thing - getting there, surrendering, reaching out CRYING OUT and grabbing hold and then letting go. . .
Bring on the end of the rope. Any day. I'll take it.
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