hey there family.
how’s your heart doing? how does life feel against your skin? how’s the weight on your shoulders?
yeah… me, too.
because I’ve been struggling real fierce with the weight lately. with the heaviness of all that the world is. all that the Way is. all the healing and woundedness in the world.
I’ve been taking more pauses for deep breaths meant to cleanse and pause and bring shalom into my heart. more because there’s more to breathe against. more to fear. more wounds to bind up.
the world is heavy, and the weight is fearsome, and the depth of the rawness of our humanity is leagues and leagues more so than the ocean. and we must find a way to breathe through it, to surrender to the healing, even as the arrows pierce our hearts.
and all the bitter hypocrisy, all the callous & graceless acts of others, all the hard work for more disappointment, all the exhaustion and survival, all the confusion and frustration of WHY IS THIS THE WAY IT IS… sometimes it just leaves me bruised & busted up in my soul.
and more and more I’m feeling solidarity with the woman who owned her suffering for a lifetime… no doctor, no healer, no prayer, could touch the pain she daily survived… and she simply knew (knew!) that if she could reach out, if she could touch just the slightest thread of the hem of Jesus’ clothes… she would be healed.
so I’m over here breathing and reaching and breathing and reaching and breathing and reaching. open hands, fragile heart, shaking lungs.
and when she reaches, Jesus turns in all seeking & compassion and asks her for her story, and she tells the whole truth- all of it– all crumpled down at his feet… healed and holy and heart-broken, breath-taken at the relief.
and his response has me shaking… “go in peace, and be healed.”
but this I know: that it is a heartbreaking, breathtaking thing, to walk the Jesus-Way of healing.
and I want it. I want it so bad. I’m reaching, reaching… and every time I do I know I am sought after and desired, and that my whole truth will be met in Him with peace and healing.
because that’s what He does. our truthfully, bravely-told stories are always met with shalom. always met with an invitation to wholeness. always met with our reaching hand being reached for. our tiniest, last bit of faith is always met with hope.
because He knows.
he knows that reaching is all we have left to offer. that the pleading extension of our empty hands is all the strength that remains in our bruised & busted-up hearts.
He knows. and more than that, He… our Jesus who sweat drops of blood out of dread & anxiety & heartbreak… He understands.
and so still He reaches.
still He aches to invite us into the shalom wholeness… the stronghold inside the chaos.
still He reaches.
and still, as He hears the truth in our stories, He says:
“go in peace, and be healed.”