A friend wrote, “Thankful that Jesus gave us last week before he gave us this week. Thankful for the hope and passion He renewed in us before walking the hard places that this week would take us.” I feel every one of those words today.
Last week, the Lord affirmed so many things: direction, vision, purpose. I carry a bushel basket of moments that I’ve yet to find words to describe, and another bushel basket of new words that will find their way onto the pages of the book about women who are changing the world. I’ve never felt more confident than I do right now about the importance of the stories that will find their way to you next spring. I’ve never felt more confident about the stories that I share here too—reminders of how thoughtfully you are designed and how perfectly you fit into God’s greater story of transformation and restoration. Ephesians 3:20 says that God has etched heaven’s poetry on our lives.
We are poetry. Poetry.
Last week, I was brought to my knees by His goodness. And yet, this week I have questioned God’s intent as prayers that have been prayed for years have gone unanswered. I have wondered about His kindness as people I adore have been told the good work of their hands is being abandoned and they are no longer needed. I have asked Him to be gentle as one friend grieves the first anniversary of her mom’s death while another friend wonders how much longer her dad will remember her name and another friend prays that her body will be willing to carry the precious weight of an infant and yet another watches as her best friend is bruised by the weight of depression.
We are a strange breed, to be able to hold joy and rage and heartache and wonder and still have space to both contest and cling to the God who continues to say, “I’m still here.” Here in the confidence. Here in the questioning. Here when we can’t find the words. Here to keep reminding us that there is a greater story. Today, as I write, I’m praying for us, friend. We’re in this together. He’s still here. And we are heaven’s poetry.