She couldn’t have known what a gift it was to see those words slide silently across my screen.
“… I saw and my stomach dropped.”
She saw, my friend. She noticed, and stopped and sent me four sentences. Forty-six words. All gift.
“And you live with this every day.”
Grace poured out. My friend, the one who’d opened her arms, her home, her heart to a gaggle of beleaguered kids, had paused in the midst of her crazy, busy life and tried to imagine mine, to wander a few steps along my path.
“Are we doing enough,” she asked, “for you?”
To love her neighbor, hundreds of miles and a half dozen states northeast of her, as she loves herself.
“Is there anything at all we can do to help?”
She didn’t judge or jump in with her own story. Didn’t offer expertise or hard-won wisdom. She simply asked. Opened her great, big, amazing heart and asked.
Forty-six words. Love poured out. Grace spilled over in the midst of a journey I can’t begin to understand.
Because it’s who she is. A living, breathing, blood-poured-out, Jesus-in-the-flesh mama to seven lost and wounded souls.
A woman after God’s own heart.
We’re not walking the same road, my friend and I, but it doesn’t matter.
I do. I matter. And it’s enough.
It’s what we all long for. To matter. To be seen. Heard. Understood. To know that we are not alone.
It’s what my parents want as they journey through a year of treatment for my Dad’s systemic melanoma. It’s what my son wants as he travels the road of serious chronic illness. It’s what my girls want. To be seen. To be known. To matter. It’s what I want as I learn to parent a houseful of teens with significant illness. It’s what my husband wants. My neighbor. My aunt. My friend. Someone to listen. To hear. To see. To know.
It’s what we all want. And it’s just exactly what God promises. To never leave us. Never renounce or repudiate or resign. Never give up, throw over, drift away, walk out, cast off, or desert us.
God is in this forever. Till the very end of time. He loves us with an everlasting love. A love that never quits, never fails, and never, ever ends.
We are noticed. Seen. Loved. And we are His.
We matter. Every single one of us.
My friend couldn’t have known what a gift she’d wrapped up in those forty-six words, but they carried the fragrance of eternity. The love of the Father wrapped in the flesh of His child. Grace poured out, spilled over. Abundant. Lavish.
The Body of Christ, alive.
Love illumining a golden heart and changing the world one breath, one word, one moment, one heart-beat at a time.