I stretch out on the blue carpet in front of the family room fireplace, palms up. And I beg God to let me feel the pain, to identify with what Jesus experienced as spikes seared his flesh. But as I wait in the stillness, I sense these words.
“It is finished. Done. Over. Paid for and paid up. I took the pain so you don’t need to.”
I weep for the grace of it.
Shortly after this, D gets the call to move to Florida. I turn myself over on that blue carpet, stretch out, palms down, and dig my nails into its plush fibers. I love this newly-decorated house, my yard, my friends, my church, and my accolade-laden doings.
I plop down in the back pine island, in a pile of dry needles, my version of ashes.
And I weep for the pain of it.
To be continued over at BibleDude.net. Meet me in the comments there?
Stilled by the grace of it,
Sandy
