His goodness, His patience, His care….unfathomable.
He beckons with gentleness unmatched by anything or anyone this life has to offer. He is everything good, breathable, sustainable, livable.
Lately I’ve been whisper-reminded (soon, the whisper may move to higher decibels if it be necessary for my heart to grasp The Spirit’s truth) that He is the only one I can serve. I cannot serve two masters. Nor three. Nor twenty. I can only serve Him if I am to serve proper. I cannot depend on praise from mortal lips who cannot save. Who cannot sustain. No one has breathed life into these lungs of mine except the One who can take a fragment of rib and make a daughter so loved, she is loved into death.
She is loved into the nails. Into torn flesh. Into drops of sweated blood. Into rolled away stones and healed hearts and belief. Into finishing and never having to try again to earn or be enough or have enough or give enough.
She isn’t chosen if she looks the part, nor if she can be nice or soft-spoken or well-behaved. She isn’t chosen if she can be witty or do kind things once in a while. She isn’t chosen if she’s been selfless enough that day or divided her time well between the demands of life, or if she’s played peacemaker enough nor if she’s kept quiet polite even if she’s being taken advantage of. She’s chosen not for looks, for talents, for intelligence, for manners, for the ability to keep it together, to juggle it all.
She IS chosen (loved) because she is His.
There is no other reason.
She brings absolutely nothing to the table.
She just said yes to His love one quiet day, six years into her life.
And nothing has been the same since.
I am everything wrong and nothing right every.single.day. when I depend on anything else other than the cross.
I am everything right and nothing is wrong with me, I lack nothing, when I depend on His grace, when I wear the name HE gave me. When I remember who took my place, took my failures, once. For good.
I am she.
I am pieced of rib and redemption and held fast by Spirit.