Laced With Grace

The streets and sidewalks of this great city were quiet on the morning we took this walk, gasping for breath as we climbed one hill after another. It was a different scene on the day we arrived, a busy, bustling Saturday afternoon. The beautiful weather had drawn everyone outdoors, and it was hard to walk against the press of people all around us. The air was filled with the harmony of different languages blended together into one lovely melody. The different races and nationalities formed a colorful human rainbow.

We took a seat to watch them all walk by – so many of them – and I thought about the Father who knows each one by name. “How is it possible, Lord?” I thought. So many, and this is just one small corner of your great big world. How can You see us all; know every heart; hear every whispered prayer; love each one with such longing? It seems impossible, and yet that is just what He does. He sees each one of us as though we were His only child.

I was reminded of this when I read just what I needed to hear from Him the other morning. Always, He supplies what I need. I am only one, and yet He gives me His undivided attention every moment of every day. I have wrestled with this question of suffering and unanswered prayer and trust. It is, I find, a long journey in understanding. Just when you think you have made it to the end of the road, you find it is only a sharp curve that leads you further still.

Longing for help and reassurance, I read Elisabeth Elliot’s words:

“Instead of seeing His everlasting love, tenderly bending down to our humanness, longing over each one of us with a father’s speechless longing, we sometimes think of Him as indifferent, inaccessible or just plain unfair. The worst pains we experience are not those of the suffering itself but of our stubborn resistance to it, our resolute insistence on our independence. To be “crucified with Christ” means what Oswald Chambers calls “breaking the husk” of that independence. ‘Has that break come?’ he asks. ‘All the rest is pious fraud.’ And you and I know, in our heart of hearts, that that sword-thrust…is the straight truth. If we reject this cross, we will not find it is this world again. Here is the opportunity offered. Be patient. Wait on the Lord for whatever He appoints, wait quietly, wait trustingly. He holds every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year in His hands. Thank Him in advance for what the future holds, for He is already there. ‘Lord you have assigned me my portion and my cup’ (Ps 16:5). Shall we not gladly say, ‘I’ll take it , Lord! YES! I’ll trust you for everything. Bless the Lord, O my soul!”

There it always is – trust. Not simply trust, however, but trust in One Who loves me with a love beyond measure. He loved me so much He sent His Son to die in my place. Is it not a love worthy of my trust? Yes, and so much more.

Blessings,

The sun bounced off the surface of the water, leaving diamonds in its wake. A crisp, cool breeze ruffled the leaves in the small trees planted along the edge of the sidewalk. It was a perfect day for a walk,  one of those days that somehow draws us a little closer to heaven.

I walked breathing in the cool, fresh air and, as often happens when I walk alone, I began to pray. There have been so many desperate needs in recent months – needs that are beyond the ability of mere humans to meet. Apart from the Lord’s intervention, there would be no hope. It is a comfort to place the burden into His capable, gracious hands and know that He hears and answers prayer.

I crossed the street and began walking near the man-made pond, with its fountains shooting plumes of water into the air. The ducks, sunning themselves in the grass,  saw me coming and waddled quickly down  into the water. They have made the long journey from the north and are wary of strangers. A little thought flitted across the my mind as I watched them – a little problem that had been worrisome. I brushed it aside, saying with the mental gesture that I didn’t think it was important enough to pray about. Or more correctly, saying I didn’t think the Lord would want to be bothered by anything so trivial.

In that moment I felt a gentle reprimand – a reminder that there is nothing in my life He considers insignificant. Every need, every care, every sorrow, every struggle, every disappointment, every thing that affects me is important to Him. He is the God who knows “when I sit down and when I rise up;” who is “acquainted with all my ways;” who knows what I will say “even before there is a word on my tongue; whose  thoughts about me, were I to count them, ” would outnumber the sand.” (Psalm 139)

He is the God who “counts the number of the stars; He gives names to all of them.” (Psalm 147:4)  Jesus said of Him, “Are not two sparrows sold for a cent? And yet not one of them will fall to the ground apart from Your Father. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered. Therefore do not fear; you are of more value than many sparrows.”  (Matt. 10: 29-31).

Never doubt the depth of the Father’s love for you. Everything that touches you is important to Him. As far as He is concerned, there is nothing insignificant in your life. It all matters to Him. You can bring Him all of your “impossibles” and all of the little things that don’t seem worthy of His attention. He bends down low and listens. He delights to hear your voice. He longs to draw you close and love you lavishly. You are absolutely safe in His care.

Blessings,

Linda

Picture: the little sparrows who have come for a drink from our birdbath – the sparrows He sees and cares for

“And she gave birth to her first-born son; and she wrapped Him in cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
Luke 2:7

With the eyes of my heart I look over the young girl’s shoulder and watch as she begins to wrap the newborn baby in the cloths she had packed all those days ago before they began the long, arduous journey. She cradles His hand in her own, counting the tiny fingers once again – pressing them to her lips in a tender kiss.
The promised gift has come in the form of helpless babe.

The years slip swiftly by, and I see the questions and wonder in her eyes as she looks across the table at hands grown calloused from work at the carpenter’s bench – hands that held tightly to hers not so very long ago.

I see tears fill her eyes as the day comes for Him to leave the childhood home and begin the work He has come to do. What pride and joy shine from those same eyes as she watches those hands reach out to heal and minister to the needs of those that follow after Him.

Just three short years later, and there is unbearable pain and anguish in her eyes as she looks at those precious hands splayed out on a wooden beam – pierced and bleeding. Hours later, did she once again tenderly cradle those hands as they prepared His body for burial?

Afterward they gathered together, those who had loved Him and were devastated by the loss. Was she there too? Did she look with eyes filled with fear when He suddenly appeared in their midst, or did those mother eyes recognize her child in this risen Lord? Did she hear Him say:

“See My hands and My feet, that it is I myself; touch me and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see that I have.”
Luke 24:39

Those precious hands, once so tiny and helpless, now forever scarred with the imprint of a love that cannot be measured. No longer the hands of her child, they were the hands of her Lord.

Blessings,
Linda