I sit, and write. Though dishes left undone, bathtubs left unscrubbed, hair left unwashed- my soul magnifies the Lord and so I sit, and write.
I dreamt last night of the One Who Broke The Heart Into A Thousand Pieces, now ten years ago. He was leaving, ushered away to answer for crimes he had surely committed, and I came to him then- stood tall and kind and had to bend to embrace him; he, the boy-man, not so big after all. I kissed his cheek and said the same three words I'd said so many years ago. But now, oh how they soared off the lips! Unfettered by fear. Marinated in compassion. And I awake to total peace; I awake to freedom and love and the warm spot on the bed where my husband lay long before rising with the sun, leaving me dreaming of mercy.
Today I think of that boy-man and that girl-woman who thought she loved him, only to wake up a decade later sure that she finally does. And it's nothing like she thought. Today I think on broken bodies and bloody arms and how cold the world seemed. I think on how the God-Man saw that girl-woman, with her broken body and bloody arms, and how He came to her and offered His own.
And today the mystery is almost too much. How that Body, Broken for Me, changed everything. How those Bloody Arms of His could make an exchange so decided, so deep, so permanent. How could I but love a God that powerful? How could I but worship? Deep am I in the mystery. Deep am I in hope.
A life redeemed.