twenty-three: hours to remember

I was in counseling for an hour today. I used a few of the remaining twenty-three hours to look back over some of my previous blog posts. I gain so much insight---and even sometimes get a good kick in the rear---when I take the time to revisit things God has spoken to me. Two old posts really resonated with my heart when I stumbled back upon them. Here are some snippets, since they're worth repeating. (You can read the full originals here and here if you're interested.)


Take all of me with Your gentle hands.

Even when I feel I can only open the door an inch, this is me giving You permission to bust it wide open. Even when I feel I’m unable to offer You more of me, this is me asking You to go ahead and take it anyway. Even when I feel I have no words, this is me asking You to respond to my one-word prayers for “Help” with all You know I need.

Be aggressive with me. For I’m not aggressive enough on my own behalf.


God’s heart breaks for my broken heart. He loves me that much. His compassion is that far-reaching. His grace is that incomprehensible. God’s heart hurts for my hurting heart.

The King of the Universe aches for me. The God who spread out the expanse of the sky, flung the stars into place, set the sun in its perfect position, and carefully placed the moon to simply reflect a light not its own… This God also reaches out to me, pulls me onto His lap, wraps His arms around me, holds me tighter than I realize I need, and refuses to let me go.

He weeps with me.

He doesn’t say much; He doesn’t need to. He certainly doesn’t feed me ridiculous clichés: “Smile, I love you.” “I work in mysterious ways.” “When I close a door, I open a window.” “Let go and let Me.”

His tears say enough. They tell me He understands. He cares. He sees my hurting heart and He holds it in the palm of His hand. And He holds it ever-so-gently.


I am so glad God promises to be close to the brokenhearted...