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What love is this? . Your head arrayed with the crown of my curse. . Your body striped with the marks of my iniquity. . Your back borne with a tree of death. . Your hands ripped apart with an instrument meant to hold things together. . Your side pierced, spilling holy blood for my redemption. . You, God, put on flesh only to be broken, bruised, crushed, pierced. What love is this? I sing that I know it, but do I? Does it change everything? . Does it break me?
For anyone who struggles to accept forgiveness, who’d rather beat herself up or numb herself dry than face the brutal punishment of the One who bore her sin. . For anyone who’s ever felt mocked by her own conscience, wondering, “Why am I still struggling with the same thing?” . For anyone who knows the weight of guilt, the cloak of shame. . For anyone who senses how unworthy she is of such a love as Christ’s. . I’ve linked a blog post for you, “By His Wounds.” . (*note: I wrote this post last year but re-read it last week when I fell into one of the above categories and wept. The gospel is unendingly good news.)
Don’t be alarmed, sweet boy, if my voice starts to shake as I sing you to sleep. It’s the end of the day, and I’m more tired than I’ve ever been. My flesh wants this day to be done, desperate for the fleeting relief that comes when all the babies are quiet. . My voice doesn’t shake for tiredness though, not completely at least. I’m tempted to disengage right here and now, to let the words come out of my mouth while my heart drifts to a different place. But the Spirit won’t let me. . Because the truth is, the addition of your little life requires more of mine than I’ve ever given. The darkness highlights this reality, the confines of this room making the truth inescapable. I’m at the end of myself, and though my eyes are closed, I see in living color. . When I lean in here, in this vulnerable place, singing this song to you, to God, I’m nearly undone. Worship envelops me, forming in me a medley of repentance, yearning, hope, and awe. My voice creaks in all my brokenness as it takes in the glory of an almighty God so tender, so loving. A God worthy of all my moments, all my devotion, all my hours of the day and night. . My voice shifts in tone as it tunes into this reality, my song no longer a formality but a delight and a balm to my soul. . #motherhoodissanctifying #risenmotherhood #thenursingseries #wordsworthnoting
Remember how I essentially begged you to memorize Scripture? . This is the one the Spirit has been using in the battle against my flesh (Isaiah 26:8). In context, this verse expresses to God a yearning for His reign to be clear and obvious to every eye. A desperation for the world to know righteousness and experience the peace that comes when His judgments are in the earth. . If His renown is the desire of my heart, then it necessarily changes the way I communicate my experience. Telling of my wakings in the night shifts from times on the clock I saw to the supernatural rest pervading my heart. . My sacrifices during the day transform from a story about my personal fleeting glory, to one of a lowly Savior who delights in dwelling with me and producing life in my death. . When my toddler is distraught because I can’t hold her, I resist showcasing everything else I have to do, and instead stop, hug, and pray with her, articulating a hope in the promise that God will meet her needs. . My disappointments, interruptions, frustrations, and discouragements relinquish their claim on me when His Name and renown are the desire of my heart. . #preachingtomyownheart #womenintheword #lampandlight #wordsworthnoting
The little time you have, Mama, it was never meant to serve you. It calls out to you, promising comfort and freedom. It creates visions in your head of no one touching you, no one talking to you, no one needing you, whispering, “You will find rest here.” . You idealize the perfect way to use it, to disengage or to produce, believing it will provide the relief you’re desperate for in the endless job that is your role. . But Mama, alone time is not that glorious place where fullness of joy is found. Believe not the lies that bid you to escape the present. Serve not the master that enslaves you, leaving you embittered when your time is little or interrupted. . Because time exists as a resource to serve God alone. Time with your kids and time without. Invest the gift of both in the Kingdom that returns with eternal profit. . You will find rest and joy available to you when you acknowledge that you are in fact never alone, but the God who inhabits eternity has chosen to dwell with you. . #preachingtomyownheart #motherhoodissanctifying #thenursingseries #wordsworthnoting (one of the most frequent positions I find myself in these days👆🏼)