“He maketh me to lie down in green pastures…” Ps. 23:2a

Dear Friend,

He maketh me…

Those three words can sound harsh. Abrasive. Controlling. And in our independence-driven society the concept of ANYONE forcing us to do ANYTHING is anathema.

Even if it is for our good.

It’s easy to fall for the misconception touted in our culture that I know what is best for me. But sheep are not always wise. They are creatures prone to lethal curiosity, disease, and predators. They need the restorative power of rest. They need the nourishment of green pastures. Otherwise, they become restless, anxious, and sickly. They possess the capacity to wander and agitate themselves to the death.

And no matter how weary they are, they will not lie down unless they are:

• Free of fear. How many times does the unexpected, the unknown, stalk our peace and upend our sense of security and wholeness? When life flexes its diabolical side, when disease and loss and reversals haunt our steps and remind us of just how fragile our existence is…how can we rest? All is primed within against a looming threat—even our minds become a traitor to the rest we so desperately need.

• Free of contention. Sheep are territorial. Consumed with the pecking order among themselves. They fight for status. Assert themselves to hoard the best, the preeminence in the flock for themselves. Too often we can fall into this trap too. Pride bates us. Tells us to fight for what we want. Fight for our status among our peers. But this spirit is the antithesis of contentment…of rest…of what it means to be whole.

• Free of pests. Flies. Ticks. Accidents. House repairs. Hard work hours. Tight finances. Personality clashes. Challenging relationships. Political unrest. So many irritants small and large exist to prick and prod and keep us in a state of agitation so we miss the provision of our Shepherd, and our soul grows tired and haggard.

• Free of hunger. It is no small thing to have green pastures. Especially considering David wrote this Psalm in Palestine. The understanding, the foresight, the industry that it takes to prepare lush, verdant fields in an arid climate is astounding. Yet Christ prepares this for us and bids us come and satisfy our deepest hunger in Him, the bread of life. With bellies filled with His goodness and grace, we can lay down and be restored.

The only power great enough to silence these distresses is the presence of the Shepherd. But sometimes we push Him away because we don’t like the prying light of His presence. Or we hide from Him, bent on nursing our hurt or covering our shame. Or perhaps we want to be master of our own destiny, the only one who decides what is right and wrong for us.

When we place all the stress and anxiety of current or future problems into His capable hands…

When we seek only His approval, His presence, His definition to validate us…

When we open our thoughts and emotions to His words and promises and let His value system become ours…

When we answer His knock at our heart’s door and push away the commotion that will always clamor for our attention and just sit at His feet and fellowship with Him…

Then He can lead us into His pasture of provision.

Then we can hear and respond to His loving insistence that now is a time for rest and He will keep the universe and our lives running without our worry or help.

Then we can lay down under His eternal care and discover that while the world rages and clashes in its course, our soul is nourished and restored.

A new year unfolds ahead of us. The terrain ahead already mapped out by the Shepherd of our souls. Every provision we need for every challenge we will face, has already been assessed and accommodated for by Christ. Let’s walk into the opportunities of 2024 in the wake of our Shepherd’s footsteps and may our hearts burst with hope that He will lead us the whole way through.

Much love,

Kristy

With all the extra crazy in our world, and quite frankly, in my own life, I’ve been meditating more than ever on the beauty of Psalms 23 and the unchanging promise of the Good Shepherd. Over the next several months I thought it would be good to revisit the power hidden within the comfort of this favorite Psalm.

So much hope is offered to each lamb with the simple statement, “The Lord is my Shepherd, I shall not want…” Can you hear the certainty undergirding David’s words? The ringing persuasion that stretched beyond his one flickering light and has offered comfort for epochs.

Why? Why when we lay our loved ones to rest, or we find ourselves trapped in frightful places, or our harried hearts brim with unmet needs, does our heart instinctively turn to the Lord is my shepherd?

Because these words are not a creed—but a relationship.

The Lord, IS my Shepherd. Here. Now. In this trying moment. In this overwhelming pain. In the never-ending responsibilities or the shocking news. No matter what has cleaved me, it doesn’t have the power to pluck me from the unbreakable grip of His hand.

The Lord is my Shepherd. I have chosen Him. He belongs to me, and I to Him. This is not an ambiguous, distant role, but my current identity. An active, exclusive relationship. Him, the Shepherd. Me, the sheep. And in the choosing of Him, I have chosen to let Him lead and I’ve committed to following.

The Lord is my Shepherd. Not my buddy. My pacifier. My lucky rabbit’s foot. He’s my shepherd—which means He’s in charge. It’s the shepherd who decides where to go and how to get there. When to stop, to rest, or to keep pushing forward. What to eat. Where to drink. The sheep is never the one in control. But the sheep is also never the one who has to defeat the enemy or solve the problems that arise on the route. The sheep simply needs to trust, to listen, to follow—and all of her needs will be beautifully met as we shall see in future posts.

Upon this one, small statement, hangs every promise that follows in this Psalm. If Christ is not my shepherd—then none of the rest of the chapter is true. Because if He cannot lead me—He cannot protect, tend, and restore me. Therefore, the health and flourishing of the sheep depends on his willingness to allow the Shepherd to lead.

Trials will come. Tribulation. Even the sheep who is following will walk through storms and along jagged cliffs and descend into valleys that threaten every scrap of earthly security. Satan will prowl. Roar. Ask to sift us like wheat. But none of these forces trumps the Shepherd’s ability to keep us and restore our soul. He is equipped for every challenge along the way.

Therefore, when we find ourselves in a place of soul-languishing, we need to ask ourselves, “Have I stopped following?” Have our eyes shifted to the terrain around us or do we grieve what His love has denied us? Surely, if our hearts were one with His—if we trusted Him and needed nothing but the comfort of His presence in all our places—He would be the light even in our darkest night.

What will be written on the pages of our lives? His story, or ours? Will we strike out on our own and pray we can craft a better tale without His eternal perspective and sufficiency? Or will we settle into the sweet comfort of a Good Shepherd who is able to meet every temporal and eternal need and lead us safely home?

The Lord is my Shepherd… and because of that fact…I shall not want.

They weren’t supposed to grow. It was one of those years for us. Although my husband offered, I passed on spending one cent on beautifying my back patio with flowers and living things. I wanted to, but everything else in life felt like a barren, stark, thirsty, hungry, parched land. For years our resources have been bombarded by an unending stream of medical-related needs and I was tired of it all. Tired of the heat. Tired of the emptiness. Tired of the unchanging scenery that always screamed lack.

So I wept my tears out before the Lord, asking Him to infuse my weary soul with His presence…with purpose…with hope. I chose courage even though my heart quaked, and put my hand once again to the plow He had assigned me to. But I didn’t expect much more than to survive.

Summer arrived in all her glory and with all her outrageous commitments. But grace was there too…because Christ was there…so I kept following, kept trusting. And then one day they were there. All on their own. They were annuals – planted last year in planters that lay dead and dormant since last summer. That froze solid in the winter. That should never ever have produced anything.

But suddenly there was life. Pushing up through the soil. Defying the odds. Refusing to give up. Delicate, but tenacious. Fragile, but free. Unconcerned with everything that conspired against it. It grew because it chose life. Chose to respond to the sun’s invitation to push up and grow. Chose to wiggle its roots deep right where it was planted and receive the nourishment that was there.

And I learned a lesson from those little flowers… Life does not restrict me, my choices do. The Son always beckons to me to join Him where He is sitting in Heavenly places. He always provides all the nourishment I need to grow up into Him in all things…in all places…against all odds.

Grow sweet sister – in all the places they said you never could – in all the ways they said it was impossible – against the howl of the wind or the bareness of the desert. Defy the odds, the predictions. Your Father sings over you. Your Shepherd protects and nourishes you. There is nothing to fear. Nothing to lose. Everything to hope and believe for. There is amazing purpose and potential in your life – RIGHT WHERE HE PLANTED IT.

Ben (my husband): “I have never regretted asking you to be my wife.”
Me: “Really? Even when I embarrassed you so bad you were kicking me under the table?”
Ben: “Well…there are days I celebrate it a little less enthusiastically…”
???? Only Ben could put it like that ?

Kalli (my seven yr old): “Mamma – you are the BEST mom!”
Me, glowing: “Thank you, Sweetie.”
If she was going to make my day, she should have just stopped there – but in five seconds she continued…
Kalli: “…even if you aren’t NORMAL – you are still the best.”
Me, no longer glowing: “Thank you.” (I think??????)
Kalli: “Besides, normal mom’s are not as fun as weird moms…”
???
Moral of the story…what YOU think your child is saying, and what they are really saying, can be worlds apart!!!! ?

“Great peace have they which love Thy law: and nothing shall offend them.” (Psalms 119:165)

This verse has long intrigued me. Not only because of the desirable promise of the elusive maiden called “Peace,” but also because of the high threshold of proof that confirms one has indeed a true love of God’s law and the desired reward.

“My brethren, count it all joy when ye fall into divers temptations; Knowing that the trying of your faith worketh patience.  But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”  (James 1:2-4)

From the time I was small, I remember the pulpit joke that went something like this – “Be careful what you pray for (ominous stare over the top of the pastor’s glasses). Don’t ever ask God to give you (dramatic pause) patience…for He will answer your prayer by bringing you into circumstances that require you to be patient!”  Everyone laughed.  Everyone got it.  No one wanted to intentionally be put into a scenario where they had to learn patience – we simply wanted it to be seamlessly added to our repertoire of spiritual gifts.  We hoped to wake up in the tiring mess of life and find it easy and natural and comfortable to be patient.

And who doesn’t?  Wouldn’t life be so much sweeter if circumstances did not fracture the cheerful expectation?  If delays did not resonate with sickening disappointment because what we desired took an undetermined layover somewhere?  Wouldn’t we have much more boldness to face an unknown future if enduring brought us delight and waiting was like being turned loose in a candy store?

Yet our flesh does not recognize these gifts as good, even though she is truly a gift.  So much so, that we are to count ALL of it joy when we head into the tsunami of multiple adversity.

All of it?  Even when the dreams and plans and goals you had are hung up with red tape, and you wrestle with circumstances you never wanted, try to survive financial reversals you couldn’t have side-stepped, pick up the broken pieces of health or relationships or career?  Even when the ministry you dreamed of doing, or the friendships you poured yourself into, or the family you’ve been entrusted with has rung every last drop from you and assaulted your heart with a lack of gratitude, rejection, or false accusations?  Even when the news keeps being bad, and hope is still deferred?  Life’s adversities can be brutal, and it is the most unnatural thing in the world to count these places as joy.

Yet the command is there, clearly written so that it will broker no argument.  And with the command there is a reason given, a glimpse into the eternal working of a patient Father on our behalf. You see, she has a work to do…a work that ONLY she can do.  In fact, if we saw life as the Father sees it, and if we saw ourselves as we really are, we would be begging Him to not leave us be until she had fully accomplished in us what she was designed to do.

By nature we have strengths, and although these diamonds in the rough are given us by God, they are encased in our sin nature.  Adversity is like the chisel in the hands of the Almighty.  Patiently, slowly, He strikes at what holds us back – knowing that we will fight and thrash and cry out – yet also knowing that we can never come to full maturity of character and soul without having what holds us back stripped away.  The Father is not so interested in the abundance of things we wished to accomplish, or the stress and pain we wished to avoid – His primary interest is that the freedom, and the light, and the nature of His Son be formed in us.

And patience enables us to mature and grow up into Him in all things.  Patience buys into the nature of the Father and Son.  She says, “He is to be trusted, and I can count upon Him in every circumstance to be working good on my behalf.”  She humbles herself under the Father’s hand, even when reviling and railing persecutes her, or pain besets her, or she feels to have been lost in the shuffle, or she grieves what once was and is no more, or she is humiliated by her own lack, her own failure.  She doesn’t let go of what He has promised her, for she knows that He cannot lie and that His promises are as sure and true in the dark as they are in the light.  She does not find her solace in her plans, in what she can or will accomplish, but rather in walking in fellowship with the Father and Son today.  Being content to simply let His will be done, knowing it is so much better than hers.  Waiting, to see what He will do.  Willing, to be inconvenienced so that He might have His way on earth as it is in Heaven.

As her presence stretches out in me I find that she extends herself to those around me.  Petty irritations and sensibilities fall away, because I realize that the Father is at work in them as He is in me.  I know, they will not always be who they are, and my greatest desire transforms from wanting to make things happen, to watching Christ unfold them one petal at a time.

When I am impatient it mars – and scars – the work of grace.  Whether it is directed towards myself, or another eternal soul, my immaturity is akin to a child who “helps” a butterfly out of its cocoon or forces a flower to open her blooms.  For all the good intentions I stand there and hold the dying carnage in my hand with tears flowing that say, “I didn’t mean to!”

So…sweet sister…have patience…let her have her way and accomplish her perfect work so that we can grow up into a full maturity that sees and values what our Father does…so that we do not fail His grace or be found destitute or wanting at His coming.  Is He not worthy?

“I waited patiently for the Lord; and He inclined unto me, and heard my cry.

“He brought me up also out of an horrible pit, out of the miry clay, and set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.

“And He hath put a new song in my mouth, even praise unto our God: many shall see it, and fear, and shall trust in the LORD.”

The other day my husband and I took our children to an amusement park.  Our goal was simply to enjoy them; to take a break out of the relentless crazy of illness and overwhelming circumstances, and just enjoy the beauty of “together.”  In the moments between interaction and excitement, there were spaces of profound silence.  In those fleeting seconds, my soul observed the hustle and bustle of all around me.  I saw the healthy and strong that could still ride all of the rides with their children or grandchildren.  I wondered what it would be like to have a body free from chronic pain and neurological hiccups.  I absently wondered if they appreciated the gift that it is – the gift we once had before mold illness.

Over the past four years, there have been many days where I feel like we tripped and fell into a deep dark hole.  I strain in the darkness for reassurance, but this place has no familiar landmarks that breathe security over me.  I reach out for comfort, but touch is greeted by the cold uncaring of the ragged walls of impossibilities.  I try to climb up – back to the light and the life I once knew – but the mire of pain, distress, and perplexity hold me back, pulling me in deeper.  Unanswered questions hang heavy in the air.  It is with a sinking terror that one thought becomes painfully clear – I am trapped in my own life.

I do not live in the wilderness, an exile from my own country, like David.  I do not live in a dungeon for a crime I did not commit, like Joseph.  I am not spending forty years of my life, wandering in the desert for the sins of others, like Joshua and Caleb.  Yet I have known the yearning of a prisoner all the same, for we can be bound down by life even when we walk free.

Many beloved daughters of the Lord feel bound in bodies, marriages, finances, or circumstances that are far from what they dreamed of.  We’ve drunk from the cup of bitter disappointment or experienced the pain of deep sorrow.  We’ve grieved over the loss of our treasured plans or the shattering of normal.  We’ve been wounded or forsaken – or both.  Hang on dear sister, for there is still hope even in life’s prisons.

These places are dark and ugly because of sin and all the consequences that it brought with it.  It will touch each of us with its suffering, but in the hands of Christ it can be transformed into places of beauty.  Through them we become aware of our deep need.  We come face to face with what we are really made of – the fears, the insecurities, the lack of the image of Christ in our own soul.  We see how very far we are from the patience of Christ, how poorly we “suffer long,” or how dependent we were on the things of this life for our sense of happiness or wholeness.  As we discover our inability to fix what is wrong we become persuaded of our own insufficiency.  As we fail to mend broken bodies or relationships we yearn for the Dayspring to arrive in our mess with healing in His wings.  As we face unending bills and needs with our impoverished resources, we are deeply humbled by our inadequacy.

And we learn to wait for Him, to be still.  Time slows up and we see His patient work with us…how unafraid He is of time, how much He values patience.

The deep darkness of the pit turns our eyes up.  It helps us to see clearer – first ourselves and the condition we are in – but then what is above us.  We are taken afresh and anew with His promises.  His Word comes alive in our need, for when we see ourselves as we truly are, the glory and preciousness of all that He is sparkles like the light.  The captive’s heart is bound tightly to its Saviour.  Notice the words in the Scripture – when we cry out to Him He will not leave us there. He will incline His ear unto me, the captive.  He will hear me, the prisoner.  He will bring me up out of this miry pit, place my feet on a firm foundation, and establish me. 

I am learning, slowly but surely, that the prison’s of life are there to set us free.  We may think that we are just fine as we were.  We may feel strongly that it was wholly unnecessary to go through such a heart-wrenching place.  But the Lord knows better.  He knows that we are blind to our true condition, to our true need – and sometimes life has to mirror back to us what we really are.  Sometimes we have to be trapped on a boat in the middle of a raging sea before we realize our rowing, our self-sufficiency, isn’t going to be enough and we cry out to Him.

Miry pits and prison cells are part of life, but they are not the destination.  Our dear Lord desires to establish us and teach us a new song.  Not the shallow songs that came naturally to us, or the mournful notes of the captive, but His very own song.  A song that makes others sit up and take notice because of the heavenly strains.  A song of patience.  A song of transformation and gratefulness.  A song of deliverance.

I wanted to complete this thought, this truth of a new song and the profound significance of it by some Scripture and meditations my husband wrote down the other day.

“‘Psalms 89:15-16 Blessed is the people that know the joyful sound: they shall walk, O LORD, in the light of thy countenance. In thy name shall they rejoice all the day: and in thy righteousness shall they be exalted.’

“Could it be that there is a joyful song that we do not know? A song that is foreign and clumsy on our lips and our natural tongue cannot speak? Is it possible that the burdens and trials of today are a music lesson for tomorrow? Is it possible that God is teaching our tongues to sing the language of praise? Could we say this life is a rehearsal for the next, and that in the next all we say or sing will be couched in praise to the Lamb? Could it be that in Heaven we will be compelled to praise because the tangible facts confront us on every side? Could it be that today we avoid praise until the tangible is in hand? Could it be that we have missed the music lesson most pleasing to the Father’s heart, the lesson where we praise Him in faith? Is it possible that the purest form of faith is sincere praise before a prayer is answered? When all hope is gone, our strength is small, and our resources are slim, could it be that right there is the perfect time to practice our praise? Could it be that praising in faith is the only fitting way to approach the Throne of our God? (Ben Jossund)

“‘Psa_22:3 But thou art holy, O thou that inhabitest the praises of Israel.’

 

(“Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord: for whom I have suffered the loss of all things, and do count them but dung, that I may win Christ.  And be found in Him, not having mine own righteousness, which is of the law, but that which is through the faith of Christ, the righteousness which is of God by faith:  That I may know Him, and the power of His resurrection, and the fellowship of His sufferings, being made conformable unto His death.”  Phil. 3:8-10)

Loss.  Just those four small letters echo with pain.  It implies something being taken…and not just anything – but something we valued dearly.  We shrink from it in any form it comes in.  The cold harshness of the casket or the unnatural severing of a critical relationship.  The stripping of the cherished possession rife with tender memories.  The melting away of our financial security.  The disappearance of the friendships or health we once took for granted.  When its iron fists reaches into our life wringing something from it, and our pleas fall lifeless at its feet, we are left numb in its wake with only one feeling pulsing through our souls – grief.

As I write this article, I do it with a profound sorrow over how many of my sweet sisters are struggling under unexpected loss.  You are trying to put the pieces back together after death, wondering how the hole in your soul will ever mend.  You are trying to recover from the disappointment, rejection, and re-definition of your life that comes in the wake of the tidal wave of divorce.  You are eaten up inside with worry over a wayward child, or how to the pay bills, and it robs you of precious sleep throughout the night watches.

Perhaps your loss has come in the form of dreams unrealized – whether it is the longing to be wife or mother – the emptiness of heart or arms mocks you.

Perhaps you are wrestling with chronic illness – and the fear that you might never know what a “normal life” feels like, or the insecurity of being “damaged” goods pushes on your heart in a quiet agony.  You work hard to appear well, pushing yourself beyond your strength so that you still feel valuable…for we all fear being replaceable.  Beyond the dread of daily pain and limitations is the deeper fear of being useless…even worse than that – a burden.  Is that not the greater hurt of the invalid – this feeling that they are in-valid?  That the world goes on without them as though they were nothing more than a pebble on the side of the road?

I understand, and I weep with and for you, because it hurts soul-deep.

At my lowest point, just before I was diagnosed with neurotoxic poisoning from mold mycotoxins, I was bedridden.  My muscles were in constant spasms and I was in excruciating pain.  My brain felt like it was on fire and my speech was slurring.  I was experiencing a rapidly increasing loss of motor skills and vision.  My heart raced and thudded and I had extreme nausea.  I was as weak as a newborn kitten.

My older two children were in and out of my room all day long – checking in on Mama before going back to their work or play.  My three-year-old, however, put her favorite toys and books up on our king size bed because she couldn’t handle being far from Mama (and didn’t feel well herself).  I would watch her play through silent tears, so innocently unaware that this storm might just take her mommy beyond where she could find me.  I asked the Lord if I would live to see her grow up, and asked that if it was His will, He protect her from the pain of saying goodbye.

Humanly speaking, I was completely useless.  I could not do anything to get better, find answers, minister to and protect my family or church, or take care of my home.  All I could do was lay there and rest in my Father’s hand.

I believed He loved me…I could feel His presence, along with His dear Son’s, descend with me into my Valley of the Shadow.  Yet I could not logically account for this detour, for it seemed that I was not only useless to the world, but to eternity as well. There, in my small bedroom, as I looked on a stormy autumn sky, tracing the ray of sunlight that escaped the foreboding clouds and spilled on my sunflowers, He asked me once again to “count all things but loss.”

“This, Lord?” I asked in the fading light, “The strength to go out and work in Your harvest field?  The soundness of mind and body to help my husband, raise my children in Your ways, bear more babies for Your glory, or care for the home You’ve given me?  The energy to be the right kind of Pastor’s wife?  You want me to count these things as loss too?”  In my weakness, my aloneness, it chafed against me, for I had always interpreted “counting all things but loss” as a relinquishing of my shame over past failures, or my pride over past successes.  I had associated the command with those things I had chosen to do or not to do…those things that I had control over. 

It could not possibly be talking about this careening train wreck that threatened all that I loved, and all I had hoped to be.  Yet there were no qualifiers to Paul’s statement.

There on my sick bed I had to ask, what if that word “all” meant just that – all?  What if it reached far beyond my actions and choices, to the things that I could not control?

What if the “loss” was my inability to serve at this phase of life?  What if the loss was the stripping of my strength to nurture and shield those under me?  What if the loss was being incapable of stringing two thoughts together and have them be coherent?  What if the loss was my candlestick being hidden…of no earthly good to anyone?

What if the loss was the disappearance of the very resources I believed I needed to do the most for the Lord in my stewardships?

What if the loss is financial, or a beloved relationship?  Or the loss of an opportunity or the breaking of a marriage?

I love the reason that Paul was willing to suffer the loss of all things.  He was not willing to make this sacrifice so that the whole world might come to Christ.  Nor in order that the Jews might be convinced of their Messiah.  Neither was it so that the church would cease to be persecuted.

It was for one glorious, breathtaking reason – that he might KNOW His Redeemer – the God of the universe.  Experientially, tangibly – in the deepest crevices of his heart and soul.  That Christ might fill all the areas of loss, becoming even more real and dear – enabling Paul to hold in the place of those treasured things the excellency of the knowledge of Christ.  Because Christ is so very worthy – He IS the gift of God – He is eternal life itself.

Like a shaft of light piercing the shadows, it struck me that my darkest, most isolated corner is still in full view of the Heavenlies!  That though my light might seem hidden from men it was still flickering before the angelic beings.  That in my most obscure place the angels were still looking on watching this wonder called redemption and sanctification, observing to see if Christ was indeed enshrined upon my heart’s throne and worthy of ALL my love, adoration, and worship… though He seemed to be slaying me.

In shame I realized I had fallen into the danger of measuring my usefulness to Christ by how much my life was able to impact men. Forgetting, that Christ is far more interested in me knowing Him than in what I can accomplish for Him (John 17:3).  

These places in life can shatter our souls – our sense of security and wholeness.  They are what we shrink from, what we hope to never have to talk about.  They lay our vulnerable beings out raw and exposed and we cannot move forward without the faith of Christ.  Yet it is this very faith, this unearthly God-like confidence when there is no obvious reason to hold on, that is necessary to form His righteousness in me.  In my raw interaction with the Son of God, through every kind of loss I can possibly encounter in life, He imparts Himself to me and exchanges my likeness for His.  Nothing, not even my helpless stillness, is truly lost when it is poured out as an offering at His feet.  That freewill offering rises before His throne as a fragrance of love and brings Him a glory I cannot understand in the halls of Heaven.

So, no matter where we find ourselves, dear sisters – impossible circumstances, overwhelming obstacles, failure, pain and suffering, grief, loss, need – nothing and no one is useless in His hands.  At our lowest, most painful point, where we need faith to see through the other side of our wounds – and all the territory in between – He is with us and at work in us accomplishing the very thing He gave His life for.  In our brokenness, He is redeeming us back to His heart.  And the redemption of broken souls IS His most important work.  There is nothing that can wrest me from it, unless I say no…and nothing is more precious than to let Him have His unobstructed way.

In a world infatuated with the picture-perfect image,strength, power and riches, let’s choose together to block its collective voice and accept the value Christ places on our imperfect lives…for He was willing to exchange His for ours…is it not fitting, and right, that we exchange ours for His?  Let’s fall back into His abundant grace – let’s look our disappointed expectations, our griefs and goodbyes, our limitations and suffering in the face – and count all things but loss for the excellency of knowing Him.