Is it really my (I mean her) only refuge?
Is it because the door locks, and I (I mean she) can run the water and/or crawl in the shower and bawl my/her eyes out without interruption or prying eyes or questions asked?
Something along those lines runs awful close to the truth.
Doubled over with heaving sobs while sitting on the closed toilet today, I found myself making a conscious decision to replace the desire to feel sorry for myself with deliberate words of thanks and gratitude. You see, I am very aware that my present state of affairs is largely due to choices I have made up until now.
Reap what you sow. That sort of thing.
I am also aware that not only has God watched me make these choices along the way, He has loved me enough to want to break the chains I have bound myself up with. If I let Him.
That’s one of the remarkable things about this relationship He has forged between us: He knows where I’ve been, but He also knows where I can be. For the last few years He has been teaching me about how much He loves me, showing me His faithfulness, and constantly, constantly, constantly reassuring me of my worth to Him.
I don’t deserve this.
Considering all the poor choices I have made, less than exemplary things I have done, words I have spoken, and things I have left undone, I have no business accepting anything from the King of kings.
But that’s how He rolls, this God of ours.
He extravagantly paid for it all. More than made up the difference. Wiped the slate clean. Started me from scratch. New.
Because He sees more than we do.
He sees the beauty in His Son, and what He’s done for us.
He sees the beauty in the Promise that is our lives.
He sees the beauty in us, His masterpiece.
And He sees the beauty that He can create from our ashes.
So I sob my thanks to this God who takes my breath away with His excessive indulgence in my life-that-so-doesn’t-deserve it-but-gratefully-accepts-because-I-know-He-wants-to.
And I recognize that He’s so not done with me yet.