Friday, January 24, 2014


Psalms 119:50
This is my comfort in my affliction, that Your word has revived me."

Grief, sorrow, hope and pain all mingled into one utter gut groan with no words but many tears.  Grief sometimes seems to swallow one up, and overwhelmingly cloak one in a heavy garment.  I can understand why C.S. Lewis equates grief to something like fear.

"You are mine, I hold you," I heard a voice speak to my spirit.
I turned over, bumped my husband and said, "God just spoke to me."
"What did he say?"
"He said that I was His, and He holds me.  I know you are sceptical about these kinds of things, but I know it was God.  Those words couldn't have come from me,"
"You're probably right," he said.  He knew the days and the nights I'd had.
"He reminded you of His words, of His promises," he tells me.
"Yes."  I turned on my side, cried, and slept folded in peace for the first night in several weeks.
 He came in the quiet, and spoke His words to my soul. 
God with me.  God for me.  God loves me.
And yet in pain I doubt His goodness, His love.  

I need this God-who-loves-me.  Not another set of rules telling me how I need to behave or a set of codes to heed to so that I can be considered a Christian.
Because isn't being a Christian about 'being' in Christ?
The work He has done for me is final; it obliterates my need to prove myself or to show others that I am worthy of position or love.
His love should drive me to rest in Him. 

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