This past Sunday, during worship, I was so heavily burdened,
the Holy Spirit caused me to kneel and intercede in prayer…
for the lost…
for the hurting…
for the prisoners…

As I sat there on my knees, I wept bitterly…
for those I didn’t know…
for sorrows I couldn’t name…
for chains I could not see.

For God so loved the world, that He gave His only begotten Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish, but have eternal life…John 3:16

We’re all familiar with this verse.
We see it at sporting events.
People throw it around like a beachball.

But do we really understand its depth?
Are we capable of grasping its implication for how we are to live?

We’re told throughout Scripture to share in the suffering of Christ.
           We think of Paul and the other apostles,
                 who endured painful torture and death at the hands of persecutors,
                        who gave their lives for the furtherance of the Gospel.

In our American sheltered luxury, we often think that suffering means enduring ridicule or being a social outcast for living and sharing our faith.
Maybe even sacrificing material desires in order to be obedient in our tithe…
Or giving up our weekend pleasures to serve in ministry…
We are grateful that we aren’t forced to suffer the ways many Christians throughout history, and today, around the world suffer for the sake of Christ, being beaten, killed, tortured, burned alive, separated from their families, martyred.

I, as many, have reflected, and considered whether my faith would be strong enough
–whether I am strong enough–
to endure those types of suffering.
If my child were threatened, would I have enough faith to stand firm?
          If the knife were at my throat,
                           the gun to my head,
              if I were drenched in gasoline and the match was inches away,
would I have the courage to still proclaim Christ?
I’ve long been thankful that I will likely never have to find out.

But is that what He was really talking about?
Is the extremity really necessary?

Is that the God we serve?

I don’t intend to minimize the suffering of the saints who have endured extreme persecution.

The Holy Spirit has just been teaching me something different.

But go and learn what this means: I DESIRE COMPASSION, AND NOT SACRIFICE;
for I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners…Matthew 9:13

He’s been teaching me about compassion.

          Compassion comes from a latin root:
                      com=with or beside; 
                      passion=suffering or feeling
          Compassion: to suffer with or beside; to share in one’s suffering

I’ve always been gifted with compassion. But my understanding has deepened.

We see suffering. 
We experience suffering.
Right here.
In our city.
In our neighborhood.
In our schools.
In our churches.
In our homes.

It looks different…
It’s more subtle…
Yet it can be just as destructive
–perhaps even more destructive–
as physical torture.

The suffering we see attacks the very soul.

I see people at extreme lows.
Total despair.
Buried in shame,
            consumed with anger,
         soured in bitterness,
  smothered in fear,
                      lost in darkness.

As I pray with people through their suffering,
I get to experience the intensity of their feelings.
It’s part of my spiritual gifting.

I feel the shame that makes them curl up and want to disappear.
I experience the darkness that surrounds them and leaves them blinded to God’s goodness.
I burn with the anger they hold on to.
I shudder in the fear that consumes them.
I am heavy with the unforgiveness they harbor.
I battle against the thoughts of death that seduce or torment them.
I hear the lies that taunt them.
I confront the demons that prey on their suffering,
    trespass on their souls,
        pulling them further into the abyss.

I experience compassion…I share in their suffering…
It’s a heavy burden sometimes.
It’s messy.
It’s troublesome.
It’s difficult.

Yet what I experience with them is nothing compared to what Christ experienced.

His suffering was not just physical. It was not isolated to the cross.

He has suffered from the beginning,
                 knowing we would turn away
…and embrace the knowledge–the experience–of good…and evil…

…and yet, He loved the world so much, He made a plan to redeem.

I can hardly fathom the great love of the Father…to love an undeserving people
so deeply,
so intensely,
so unconditionally,
so relentlessly,
so tenderly,
that He would be willing to become one of us and endure the cross…
that He collects our every tear and record each of our sorrows (Psalm 56:8)…
that He wept bitterly (Luke 19:41)…
          and felt great compassion, for those distressed and dispirited
                   …like sheep without a shepherd (Matt 9:36)

That kind of love…and we just don’t seem to get it…that’s suffering.

Parents can only experience a glimpse of this kind of love for our children.

But do we really know the suffering of Christ?
Do we experience the suffering of Christ?
He suffered in body.
He suffered in Spirit.
His heart was broken and grieved.
he was deeply moved and troubled in spirit. (John 11:33)
He wept bitterly for His people.

…

We are surrounded by suffering.

It’s time for battle.

Be devoted to one another in brotherly love; give preference to one another in honor; not lagging behind in diligence, fervent in spirit, serving the LORD; rejoicing in hope, persevering in tribulation, devoted to prayer, contributing to the needs of the saints, practicing hospitality. ..Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep…Romans 12: 10-15

He defended the cause of the poor and needy (materially and in spirit), and then it was well. Isn’t that what it means to know Me? declares Yahweh…Jeremiah 22:16

Are we ready to emerge from our comfort zones?
       …and share in the suffering of others…of ourselves…of Christ?

Suffering with…

to know Christ.

Do you really know Him?

It’s taken me a week to publish this…a tough one…

Mayim Hayim–Living Water

John 4…At the well, Jacob’s well, on the outskirts of town, a Samaritan woman comes during the heat of the day to draw water. Jesus meets her there, and asks for a drink. He offers her living water, and tells her to go and bring her husband. She admits that she is not married, which, of course, He already knew. He refers to her five ex-husbands, and her current live-in boyfriend. This woman was a social outcast, caught in a life of sexual sin. He essentially tells her He knows her fruitless pursuits: seeking fulfillment, escape, belonging, and more, in mere men and the things of this world. She is amazed and runs back to town to tell the rest of the Samaritans about the Messiah, whom she has just met face to face, and who told her everything she had ever done. Many Samaritans believed after hearing the woman’s testimony about Jesus’ words.

I think about the woman’s words, what Jesus called her to, and the Samaritans’ response.

I think back to my first encounter at the well…

My initial response to sexual abuse was to withdraw, turn inward, and insulate myself almost completely. It was easy to convince everyone that I was just stuck up, being a cheerleader and all…

Truth be told–I was afraid:

…afraid of boys…the only ones who seemed to take much notice of me hurt me, binding me to a life of darkness, confusion, and secrecy…
…afraid of being found out…I couldn’t bear for anyone else to know the shame, horror, and humiliation I had experienced…

Dysfunction and chaos at home just added fuel to the fire…

I walked a fine line
                       …between the external confident, fun-loving feistiness
         …and the internal shame, fear, and self-hatred that consumed me.

It’s taken me a long time to realize what was happening to me…
        what I was doing to myself…

                                               I began walking two paths–
   …the one most could see–of apparent perfection: 
           high grades, prudish chastity, full of accomplishments…
                     …the other was much darker–the road to self-destruction:
                                                     alcohol, partying, casual dating…

Along both paths I experienced
                        further betrayal
              more violations
                                      and a brutally terrifying assault.

Unable to deal with the assault or other abuses at the time, I needed other reasons to hate myself.

Before long, I plunged almost completely into the darkness.

Into the abyss…

          …immersed in the poison, deceit, confusion…

Within a couple of years, I found myself
                     nearly flunking out of college
                                              drinking and partying almost every weekend
                           squandering my soul piece by piece
      on the verge of a life I had never imagined for myself
                     …nor ever wanted for myself.

Then…one morning…I woke up…
Literally…

…next to an older man I barely knew…
                   so hungover that I couldn’t remember how
                           the previous night had ended…

…and still can’t remember…

…I woke up at the well…

I heard a Voice inside ask me,

“Wendy…what are you doing here?
This isn’t who I created you to be.
Is this what you want for yourself?”

No.

I walked away…
                  from the drinking
     the partying
              the clubs
                        the dating…

I was ready to walk away…but was not yet strong enough for the battle…
                      so I locked that part of my life away…
 

    …while traces of the poison still coursed through my veins…

 
        …and I ran headlong back to the life I had envisioned…
               graduated college with honors, married a good man,
                          went to graduate school… 
                                     I have two beautiful children, 
                                            my dream career
                         …and Christ…

After many years, Jesus brought me back to the well
                 –to join the battle–
                      it was time to begin bleeding out the toxic sin
                        that had plagued my life and relationships…

   …it was finally time to tell the other Samaritans about the Messiah
                            Who told me everything I had ever done…
                  Who called me out of my life of sin
                                 Who offered me Living Water
          and invited me into a life of mercy, grace, redemption,
                                    restoration, healing, wholeness,
                  sacrifice, joy, servanthood…

                                    …into a life of Immanuel…

Mayim Hayim…Living Water… 

Have you been to the well?

As many of you know, we are in the process of adopting a little girl.

Well, maybe not so little…She’s 12.

We saw her picture months ago, and were captivated. I’ve been praying over her, preparing for her, and thinking about her all these months. I’ve wondered what might have put her into the system. How long she’s been in the system. How many homes she’s lived in. How many schools she’s had to learn in. How many friends she’s left behind. What connection to her past she still has. How much she wants to have.

…In come the warnings: “don’t get too attached…anything can happen.”

Pbpbpbpt!!! I’ve spent my whole life not getting too excited or too attached, because I got tired of the disappointment. God told me a couple of years ago, that I was going to have to take risks. So I did.

From that first night, I have loved this little girl like she is my own. Even though I only know a handful of facts about her. Even though I have never met her, but have only seen her picture. I have no idea what she will be like. How long it may take to adjust. Who she will grow up to be. Or even if I will ever get to hold her…I still love her. Like a mother loves her unborn child, without knowing, seeing, or touching, I love this little girl. She is my little girl.

I really felt the Holy Spirit tell me the first time I saw her picture, “This is My little girl, and I want you to love her”.

Now, it’s social workers’ jobs to prepare people for worst-case-scenario. These children have had their hearts broken countless times, in unimaginable ways, and I’m sure the social workers carry that and feel that too. They have to be protective…of the children, of themselves, of us.

At our interview, they mentioned the possible obstacles that could come up in this process. I’ve been well aware of the things that might happen. I know the kinds of things this little girl might have to deal with. I have a vivid imagination. I also have experience with some of these things. I’m aware of some of the things she might do to cope. I don’t expect it to be a cake walk. I only expect to love her anyway. With the love of Christ.

Yet, last night after our foster/adoption licencing class, I hit a speed bump. That’s an understatement. The class content was heart-breaking enough, focusing on grief and loss, and imagining what kinds of loss these kids experience, and how they’ve coped and survived.

After class, I was asking our social worker a question regarding the home studies. In our conversation, one of those obstacles presented itself again as a possibility, maybe even probability. They want to be cautious about potential triggers, both for me and for her. He wasn’t certain, but she and I may share something in our experiences that causes them to pause. To hesitate. To reconsider.

He assured me, that they will find a match for us…My heart dropped. The thought of losing this little girl. Tonight of all nights? Inside, I started scrambling, stirring, grasping.

I was up most of the night, praying, wrestling with feelings, naming them, imagining how I might work through various possibilities, preparing my case.

A battle is raging…
I named anger…at the perpetrators who took so much from me so long ago, who even now, threaten to take something even more precious
I named frustration…because I feel helpless–it’s ultimately not my decision
I named fear…of losing, of the unknown, of them erring too far on the side of caution
I named intimidation…because part of me is worried about not being heard, being misunderstood, labeled, or under-estimated
I named shame…for trying to make me feel like it’s because of who I am or what I’ve experienced

I fought them by…
Surrendering…to Christ, His sovereignty, His goodness, His will.

My Abba is bigger than any doubt, any obstacle, any rule, any pre-conceived notions, any reservations, any stigmas, any labels, any opinions…He is BIGGER…He is STRONGER.

He has a plan. He gave me this girl. Even if for just a season. Even if I may never hold her. Even if I may never meet her. She has been conceived in my heart, and will continue to grow there. 

My heart is in His hands.

God is using this to teach me so much
about love
about belonging
about trusting
about surrendering
about accepting
about fighting
about adoption
about loss
about being vulnerable

Please pray for us on this challenging journey of faith…I’m off to write another letter…

There is a war going on. In my heart. In my mind. In my wallet.

Last night was the first night of B4A. I’ve been waiting about 8 months for this.

As I arrived at the meeting, I could hardly hold back the tears. The other women naturally assumed it was the anticipation of the journey we are all embarking on. Hugs and encouragement surrounded me. I exclaimed, “it’s not even this–it’s all the other crap going on!”

Finances have been stretched so thin this year, my husband and I having both taken pay cuts to move to new jobs with better advancement opportunity, expecting things to be better in the long run. Now we face the likelihood of deeper cuts, furlows, and even potential layoff and hiring freezes on the horizon.

Job security gone.
Financial safety net gone. 
My achilles heel…
I’m the financial minister…
I’m not supposed to have these problems…

blah, blah, blah…

Yesterday afternoon, the weight of it all just came dumping into my lap, just a couple of hours before our meeting was to start. As others were facing similar spiritual battles trying to keep them from showing up, I faced my own battle…for my thoughts. While the thought never occurred to not go to the meeting, I had trouble getting my mind fully there. Yet, by the grace of God, we all made it.

During worship, we sang Blessed Be Your Name. Our leader talked about the words within the song “you give and take away”. The words are inspired by Job 1:21. She described this beautiful exchange that takes place with Christ–where He replaces our ashes with beauty, our mourning with joy, our despair with praise.

I described to my breakout group that I feel like I’ve been carrying around this load of garbage. I know it’s a bunch of garbage, but I’ve been waiting to find a place to dump it. I’ve been able to manage the weight and bulk for a time, only by knowing that relief was coming soon. I know that there is treasure among the trash, so I can’t just drop everything. I need to find a place to sift through it, separate it, keep the good stuff, and leave the rest behind. This group promises to be that place.

Last night I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. So much on my mind. Finances. Group. Ministry. School. Work. Students.

I thought about those words…about the exchange.

Then it occurred to me… 

I’ve had it backwards.

I’ve been waiting to sift through the load to separate the trash from the treasure.
I’ve been looking for a place to lay it all down.
I’ve been trying to figure it all out.
I’ve been holding on to control.

It’s been all about me.
Again.

Just when I thought I surrendered, I slowly picked it all up again. Little by little, so that I didn’t realize it until it became too cumbersome.

Last night it occurred to me. I need to allow God to take first. Then give.

It’s not my job to sift through the garbage and decide what I’m supposed to “let Him take”, and to keep what I think is treasure.

It’s my job to let Him take everything.
To lay it all down at His feet.
…they’ve been waiting there the entire time…
Then He’ll return treasure to me…
on His schedule…

Polished.
Restored.
Renewed.
Better than before.
Better than I could ever do.

Letting go. Completely.

If only I knew what that really looked like.

Lord, help me to let go. Release my grip. Take it all. Give me what You will.

I will trust in You. You alone. Help me to believe.

I love our MAP (moms with a purpose) group. (Or as my husband calls us, the black shirt mafia.)

The last two seasons, we ended up studying the topics I had been praying about for months prior. First, after discovering the richness of the name and character of Yahweh, I prayed for more than six months, that He would bring His name to His people, specifically, leaders in the church, and ignite a love for His name. That fall, we began our 9-month study through the names of God.

Then about a year and a half ago, I read a book entitled The Cry of the Soul: What Our Emotions Reveal About Our Deepest Questions About God, by Tremper Longman III and Dan Allender. The book examined various Psalms and related them to how we can learn and wrestle with our questions about God through David’s words and struggles. The raw emotional honesty gave me a fresh perspective that transformed the way I viewed my emotional struggles. I prayed and desired to go deeper into the Psalms. Then, last fall, we (MAP) began our 9-month study into the Psalms, getting into the gritty raw emotion and growing closer to God through that.

What’s been really cool about it is I never told anyone what I was praying about. God put those topics on their hearts, as well as mine, and we journeyed together. It’s been amazing.

Well, after two seasons in a row, I felt a bit of pressure leading into this season. I was reluctant to pray about any specific topic. Didn’t want to seem prideful, or like I had some special place with God, either to ask for a topic or that He would give me the topic beforehand. So I resisted praying about one.

These last several months have pressed me. Dealing with resurfacing memories, embarking on a journey of healing, and all the stuff you can read about here in my posts, I’ve just had a deep desire to grow closer to Jesus. To experience Him in new ways. Not just know about Him, and remember those “special” times that He’s shown Himself and I’ve experienced Him. I wanted to draw closer to experience Him in the everyday. Not just when I’m at the end of my wits, or when I’m on the verge.

I want to experience Him in my work
in my relationships
in driving the kids to school
in conversation
in the everyday life.

I want to experience Immanuel. God with us. All the time.

So, yesterday was our first meeting of the season. And what are we studying this year?

Praying the Names of Jesus. Drawing closer to Him by discovering and meditating on His character, and experiencing Him in deeper ways. Next week’s name: Immanuel.

Exactly what I need. I’ve been praying for. I desire.

Exactly on time.

His love for me, 
His pursuit of me,
His answers to my cries,
just overwhelm me at times.

Who am I, that He would go to such great measures to speak to me and touch me in such tender, sweet, elaborate, and deep ways?

I am His child.
His princess.
His beloved.

What an awesome King we serve!

Yesterday I prayed one of the most difficult prayers I can remember. Probably the most difficult.

I’ve resisted facing this healing process, and named all kinds of reasons to wait.
Truth is, I’m afraid.

God gave me a truth over a year ago that has stuck with me. He gave it to me even before these memories started surfacing.

He told me very clearly, that if I wanted to get to Zion, I would have to travel through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

He keeps reminding me of that truth.

I’ve resisted.
I’ve feared.
I’ve doubted.

I resisted because it’s dark. It’s ugly. It’s painful.
I feared because I don’t know how deep the wounds go. I have so much I could lose.
I doubted because I was relying on my own sight, and not His guidance.

No more.

He has given me an invitation…
An invitation to walk through the Valley of the Shadow of Death…with Him.
An invitation to experience Him in ways I couldn’t even imagine before.
An invitation to trust Him with everything.
An invitation to offer myself completely to Him…to be a living sacrifice.
An invitation to heal.
An invitation to rebuild the former ruins.
An invitation to Zion.

I can’t–I won’t–resist the invitation any longer.

I reflect back and see how His grace has brought me this far. I have no (good) reason to doubt.

His radical, un-relenting love, mercy, and compassion, will carry me through.

I’m stepping into the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

He’s not waiting on the other side of the Valley.

He promised to walk through it with me.

I work out this redemption with much fear and trembling.

But I know He is with me. He is Immanuel (God with us).

Yahweh is my Shepherd, I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures; He leads me beside quiet waters. He restores my soul; He guides me in the paths of righteousness For His name’s sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil, for You are with me; Your rod and Your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You have anointed my head with oil; My cup overflows. Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow me all the days of my life, And I will dwell in the house of the Yahweh forever.  Psalm 23

I always thought I lived in a grace bubble. I thought I had been protected from things, even though the world is filled with danger.

What I have come to realize these last few months is that
my perception of God’s grace
and the truth of His grace
were two very different things.

While new memories have surfaced, my mind continues to be filled with black holes…pieces of information, details of events…that my conscious mind still cannot access.

This has been a great source of frustration for this detail-oriented woman.

But as I continue to discover and relive the horrors of what took place that day, I have come to accept that what has been the source of my frustration, is actually the gift of God’s tender grace toward me.

The ability of my mind to block out the memories saved me from the potential destruction that the experience attempted to effect. As I remember more, I have found myself thinking “that poor girl”, only to quickly realize that I am that poor girl.

The realization came when I found myself overwhelmed with emotion at the thought of how the experience might have altered my life today had I been forced to deal with it at the time. At the time, I feared that I was going to die. Guys don’t do these things to girls and let them go, I thought.

But somehow…I don’t know…I survived. I thrived. I buried. I stuffed. I continued on.

When Satan intended to destroy me, God shielded me.

The source of my frustration…blocked memories…is actually God’s gift.

He held me and carried me through. He shielded me from the horror, until now.
Until I was ready to face the truth.
Until I was ready to grieve.
Until I was ready to forgive.
Until I was ready to heal.
Until I was ready to trust Him completely.
Until I was ready to understand the weight of the cross.

It’s time.

I’ve got a long road ahead. Thanks to Him, I’m not alone.

I don’t understand His grace.
But I do accept it.
I receive it.
I embrace it.
I’m here because of it.

Wow…It’s been almost two weeks since I really wrote anything. Things have been crazy busy getting ready for classes (less than a month away), trying to wrap things up at the other job, ministry work…plus being a wife and mommy.

Plus, much of the current bits of my healing are not really appropriate for sharing in this forum. I’ve been processing more memories as they continue to surface. Don’t want to assault anyone with the details…they’re pretty horrible. Just realizing and accepting why I blocked this stuff out in the first place.

I’ve mostly been chewing on the words I wrote last, meditating on the promises in Isaiah 61, and witnessing the sweet, tender, healing love and power of Christ. I’ve also had the opportunity to do some deep healing prayer with a couple of people…I am in awe!

In awe of how sweetly He faithfully comes in to minister to people in the midst of their brokenness.
In awe of the tender ways He chooses to minister.
In awe of the power of the Holy Spirit.
In awe of the blessing to be used by Him in this way.
In awe of the deep connection and intimacy it creates.

I’ve also been challenged personally in my own healing.
I’ve recognized areas of pride, which I’ve allowed to stall the process.
I’ve remembered that surrender is a daily process.

I’m moved beyond words (rare for this wordsmith) by His extravagant love.

This song has so captured my soul’s cry these past months. Wanted to share it for anyone else who may need it…Thanks Bad for the link…

You can have my heart
Though it isn’t new
It’s been used and broken
And only comes in blue
It’s been down a long road
And it got dirty on the way
If I give it to you will you make it clean
And wash the shame away

You can have my heart
If you don’t mind broken things
You can have my life if you don’t mind these tears
Well I heard that you make old things new
So I give these pieces all to you
If you want it you can have my heart

So beyond repair
Nothing I could do
I tried to fix it myself
But it was only worse when I got through
But then you walk right into my darkness
And you speak words so sweet
And you hold me like a child
Till my frozen tears fall at your feet

My broken heart sings…

It’s funny how sometimes the words our soul desperately needs to hear the most come right out of our own mouth…just directed toward someone else. As I’ve shared the past couple of weeks, God has been giving me words to pass on to others. A couple of nights ago, I realized just how much my own heart needed to meditate and hold on to those very words.

I was sharing with my counselor and my husband the frustration in processing the flashbacks I’ve been getting lately. I can understand how I blocked memories from early childhood. What’s been hard to understand is how I blocked events from adolescence. I know there are black holes during my teenage years, but I can’t place the snapshots within the timeline.

There’s been one flashback that has been particularly troubling–a rape. I don’t remember forgetting it. That sounds weird, I know. But since I can’t place it, even to which year of high school it happened, I can’t remember how I reacted for the weeks, months, or even year after it happened. I can remember later in high school, and am sure I didn’t remember it then. So I wonder, did I suppress it immediately? or did it take a while, and that’s why I can’t remember the surrounding period?

What was troubling me most about it is that for me to accept how or why I blocked it completely from memory, it must have been darker, more disturbing than what I had already recovered from memory. A couple of people have asked me, Isn’t that traumatic enough? But I suspect, because of my feelings surrounding it, that there was more I wasn’t able to remember that was even more terrible. These past couple of days, body memories are providing more fragments of the horror of that day. I’m sick to my stomach. I’m now understanding why I was not able to deal with it as a teenager. If these memories had come before my deep healing and deliverance prayer session a couple of weeks ago, I don’t know how I would have coped today…

It’s strange. While I’m recovering memories buried deep within my subconscious, and gathering the missing pieces of my mind, It feels as though I’m losing it at the same time. Everything I thought I knew about myself, my childhood, my adolescence, my personality…it’s all being turned upside down. I don’t know who I was, because there’s so much I can’t remember. I’m having to re-define who I am. Thank God I have Christ. I don’t know how anyone even tries to heal, or what kind of hope one could possibly hold on to without the promises of redemption, deliverance, and restoration. Without Christ, what hope would one have?

So, the words I needed to meditate on most during all of this are words I gave to another person also healing from sexual abuse…
Out of the deepest sorrow can come the greatest joy.
Out of the darkest pit, we can come to see the most marvelous light.
Out of the loneliest shame, we can experience the sweetest redemption.

I meditate on Isaiah 61

“The Spirit of the Master Yahweh is upon Me, because Yahweh has annointed Me to bring good news to the meek. He has sent Me to bind up the broken-hearted, to proclaim release to the captives, and the opening of the prison to those who are bound, to proclaim the acceptable year of Yahweh, and the day of vengeance of our God, to comfort all who mourn, to appoint unto those who mourn in Zion: to give them a crown of beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness. And they shall be called trees of righteousness, a planting of Yahweh, to be adorned.”

I reflect on what Christ gave and endured, so that He could fulfill this promise.
He submitted to being arrested, to proclaim my release…
He endured ridicule, beatings, and the cross; He did not open His mouth, and through that proclaimed His acceptable year and His day of vengeance…
He wore a crown of thorns, so He could bestow on me a crown of beauty…
He tasted vinegar and hyssop, to anoint me with the oil of joy…
His garments were taken and divided, so He could dress me with a garment of praise…
He hung from a tree, so He could plant me in righteousness, to be adorned…

What crazy, incomprehensible mercy! His love is so radical! His grace is so indescribable! His ways are far above ours.

HalleluYah! My Wounded Healer! Take my broken heart and make it sing…