The Whispers of my Heart

I whisper "redeem it" and I mean it from the deep down hidden part of my soul.
These two words are some of the only words that help me to hope that there's a reason, a purpose, a healing underneath this pain.
The digging and the moving of the dead leaves, the hard parched soil, the leftovers from seasons that are no more ~ to unearth something green, something new, something that can grow.
Yes, this is hard work.

When tears run like rivers instead of  a sprinkling the emotion can have the power to flood you ~ from the inside out.
Wash you away, riding the waves, gulping for air, taking over the good and the bad. Destructive.
BUT.
When those same tears are channeled, filtered into useful purposes, they cleanse, they purify, they restore and they bring life to new growth. Seeping down, between the layers, into the cracks and the filling the empty spaces.
Grace and tears.
Sadness and prayers.
Death to the old gives way to the birth of the new.
Healing rain.

It's not easy.
Let me say it again.
It's not easy.

But I can see Him.
In it.
Through it.
Around it.
Above it.
Beneath it.
He's present.

He walks alongside. Provides soft places to land. He is the face of a friend. He is encouragement typed on a screen. He is a private message where the person chose to push SEND. He is the tulips on my kitchen table. He is my mom's group who listen and love. He is the purest smile of my children. He is my family that just never, ever, ever let go. He is my best friend who sees me and knows me and loves me.

He weaves, He creates. He uses everything. He uses everything.  He doesn't only want the good and the lovely and the perfect and the polished. He wants the bruised and the chipped and the torn and the empty.

In all of us.

Everything He touches turns to beauty ~ in His time.

I choose to let Him touch my life.
I choose to let Him work in His timing.
I choose to be included in the sculpting of His astists' hand instead of fighting to mend and recreate myself.
He makes all things new.