It’s been a month since I’ve shown up in this space. To say something; anything.
And in real time, it’s Saturday morning. In mid-July. A dreary one at that. I’m breaking all of the rules of blogging by posting on such a day, but I couldn’t let this sacred and still moment pass.
Because some gifts were meant for sharing.
To acknowledge that we walk this life together. To encourage each other to press on and press in.
And this is one of those gifts.
I stepped out on my back deck this morning (one of my very favorite places these days), just outside the sliding glass door to avoid the slow and intermittent falling raindrops, with coffee in hand, and recognized the gift of quietness for what it was. A breath of fresh air. A pause. A sacred and still moment carved out of the emotional rollercoaster of this week.
In other words, rest.
For my body and soul.
And as I continue to lean further into this truth – rest – into this word full of grace and peace that is somehow meant to characterize this year of my life that in many ways feels anything but restful, I’m filled with gratitude.
Toward the One who sees me and knows the deepest parts of me.
Even the parts that I can’t quite name or understand.
Even that parts that I’m not proud of.
In the very moments that I fear I’m just going through the motions of my faith, that I doubt my own sincerity, I can’t deny the intimacy that comes from simply drawing near to the presence of Jesus Christ and staying there. Not because of anything I am or do, but because of who He is, because of what He’s done.
It’s in that place of nearness – through all of the hurt and uncertainty and restlessness – that I acutely feel the Spirit of Christ ministering to me in a way that I can’t even begin to describe. It’s deeper than words can express.
But it’s there that I feel myself learning to trust all over again. Learning to depend on His grace instead of my ability. Learning that only Christ knows and understands me in the way I so desperately long to be known.
And though He knows every good thing along with every horrible thing about me, He still loves me and He still claims me as His own.
I don’t deserve it, but I’m tired of fighting against it.
So I begin to walk forward in confidence once again. Not because of anything I bring to the table, but because of who He tells me I am in the seat He’s already prepared for me there.
And as the sun begins to peek out between the clouds on this day, out of the sacredness and stillness comes newness and possibility and hope.
