Be strong, when the light seems to slip and fall and keep on sliding.
Our hands were never meant to capture the light and we can never fully grasp the bright glow of His face. The joy that comes from the light of the world does not end when our hands fail to embrace His robe but rather He continues to rain down His mercy as we admit our broken and feeble bones. His grace seems to thunder when our hearts are just at the tipping point. When our hands can barely rise, when our feet are dusty with a trail rarely trodden, and when our crusty mouthes can barely eek out a hallelujah, then we are ready.
It’s the soft voice of a Father; the constant and pure glow of the moon singing to tired ears:
Oh, I know you are dust and I love you.
Oh, I know you are tired and I will give you rest.
Oh, I know you are needy and I will be your foundation.
When the ground is nowhere to be seen and you are being told to step, when the last five steps were a stumble, when you shoulders sink to your chest, and when your knees are bloody, bruised and scabbed…fall. Fall completely and awkwardly. Fall violently and uncontrollably.
Fall and realize your legs were never holding you up.
Fall and see that you fit snugly between the shoulder blades of Yahweh.
Fall and cry in the arms of Jesus.
I am afraid to fall sometimes. I’m afraid to whisper my weakness. I’m afraid to look down at my feeble hands. I’m afraid. When you’re afraid, look to the cross. Look to the wood beams and the rusty nails. When fear overtakes your heart, look at the tomb. Cast a glance at the blazing angels that urge us to