As I sit in the little corner of the couch that I have claimed as my domain, I cannot help but be overwhelmed as I reflect on this semester. I am pressed for time and am living on the verge of tears. I am worried about things that simply do not matter, but I am worried all the same. My body is crying as I push my shoulder to the brink with all of my typing, writing, and rewriting. Though I know I have to keep pushing. I am almost there- the finish line is near. In the gasp for air, I am in awe of what the Lord has done in my life this semester. He has taken me to and through tough, painful, places and revealed some of the yuckiest places of my heart. He has walked with me through doubt and fear. He has assured me of His unfailing and unchanging love for me. He has blessed my life and heart with precious friendships and developed sweet relationships. I marvel at the truths whispered in the stillest of nights and the deep cries of my heart that he so willingly heard. I am overwhelmed. And in this season, so full of stress and the celebration of all things precious, I am reminded of all God's promises fulfilled in a baby and breathe it deep, Grace.
I am so thankful that Jesus meets us in these overwhelming places. In the stretched-too-thin places. In-the-squeezed-between-the-exam-and-the- acro practice kind of moments, in the desperate-for-quiet-on-the-bathroom-floor-because-everywhere-else-is-full moments.
I read Luke and I think of Bethlehem. How there was no room. No room for Mary and Joseph, but surely no room adequate for a King. I think of how His parents squeezed between the animals and the filth to place Him, the Savior of the world, in a feeding trough. The shepherds came from afar and gazed in wonder, but Mary…. Mary, held all this wonder in the silence of her heart. Overwhelmed. I bet she couldn’t even form a cohesive thought, but she treasured this moment because she knew it was the fulfillment of a promise. She was holding the child who would change the world, and yet she was still confined to a muddy and loud barn intended to house animals. Beauty and filth converged and the heavens burst with joy at God's promises all fulfilled, Grace.
I look around and know: this is what He came for. For the stress and tears. For the fragmented relationships. For the broken family. For the afflicted. For the enslaved. For the prideful. For the fearful. For the anxious. He came. The King of the universe who created all things, even life itself, clothed in splendor, took off His royal robes, laid aside His crown and squeezed all of the fullness of God into the womb of a woman. He then was born in the lowliest of places, hardly fit for a King, the babe spent his first night in a manger. Grace.
He calls my name and I long to recognize Him here, right here.
The squished places and the stretched places, the moments that are loud and messy and uncertain, this is what He came for. The heartaches and the doubt. The scars that are our constant reminders of the times sin so tightly gripped our lives. That is why He is here. And so in these moments where we are completely overwhelmed we quietly whisper, "Come, Lord Jesus."
Come, Lord Jesus.
This morning in the dark, in the rain, in whatever mess, squished place or heartache you find yourself in, be assured that all God's promises are true and will be fulfilled. He isn’t slow. We can rejoice in thanksgiving! The Savior is here with us, Grace.
His promise is a loud and resounding, “Yes.”
Yes, I have come. Yes, I am coming. Yes, I am staying. Yes, you are mine. Yes. Grace.
