The other morning, I reached out my arms across the terrain of light falling on the bed sheets. Staring at the illuminated image before me, the photograph came to mind before the words. Today, the image was created, and the words have come:
For two years, the repeated prayer has been to hold your people in my arms. I believe I know this—a heart of flesh will often feel the pain that comes from seeing everyone through His eyes, from loving as He loves. This week, hiding again behind a familiar veil of fear, I learned in a new way that the attempt to save ourselves from feeling this will keep us from fully experiencing the beauty in others, and will keep them from experiencing ours. A simple truth that, if ignored, gives way to suffering. To see others as He does, and to live from that place, also produces the most profoundly-felt joy; it is the greatest gift.
Each time I break through the lies of a past I no longer have to be tethered to, a love that has no end to its depth lives in me. A love that has too long kept to itself, always deeply felt, yet hidden away.
One of my longest-held desires is to comfort the hurting, to encourage, to strengthen, to cherish.
Today I hear: it's time. For these arms, meant to hold His people, to finally open, reach all the way into the light.
