i’ve heard of a peace that passes understanding and i know a Man who gives it but i think i missed it floating on a cloud somewhere.
there’s a stirring in my soul and i can’t let it go. but i don’t know if it would leave me, either, even if i paid it.
“there is good news,” ellie holcomb sings straight in my ear.
there is good news.
i heard good news on good friday, for the eighty millionth time but also the first, because when water drenches the desert the ground soaks up the only water it knows at the time.
“open mouth, insert fire hose,” said david platt, and i opened my mouth and fairly gulped the Living Water.
on Resurrection Sunday my pastor stood before a packed sanctuary and detailed Jesus’s torture. it isn’t the first time i’ve been taught how roman whips work. Jesus might have been in better shape had He gone through a meat shredder headfirst.
i’ve heard of a hope that raises heavenward but i lost it somewhere and i think in the process i may have stepped on it.
what if every moment is a rededication, instead of the second or third or however many times you walk down the aisle?
what if every moment is the realization that Jesus? i have approximately zero of this figured out. actually maybe less than zero.
make that definitely less than zero.
i complain that what’s before me is too hard but Jesus has done the only hard work that ever needed doing. and then He did say pick up my cross, not my starburst jellybeans.
(the starburst jellybeans are the more palatable prospect.)
i’ve heard of a grace that surges stronger than a hurricane and i’m drowning.
(maybe that’s the point. a grace that
grace when the end of your rope has just slipped uncontrollably out of your grasp.
grace when all you know to do is cry, or cry out.
grace when there’s nothing else but the rock foundation beneath you.)
i’ve heard of a love that reaches down and holds you softer than a feather, raising your eyes to see His face.
and i’m learning to live, daily, in the knowledge of that reality.