In His Arms

Coffee mug in hand, I stare out the window at the cloudy sky, and my tired mind tries to focus on something that feels beyond reach.

I begin the slow climb up into His arms.  It takes all my might – it has been too long, and I haven’t done this climb nearly enough lately, and so these muscles feel rusty, weak, and afraid.

Resting my head against His chest, I listen for His whisper, yearn to hear His heartbeat.

It takes practice, I know, to push away the thoughts that crowd out His voice, and I do not take for granted those precious moments when He overwhelms my head and heart, and He is all that I can feel.

There it is.

exhale

It’s been a long year.  A year of too much coffee, and too little sleep.  A year of good grades, and unmet expectations. A year of test anxiety, undone laundry, and a family that is learning to adjust . . . there were times this year I could almost hear my family creaking and groaning like a ship caught in a mighty storm.

But here . . .  in His arms . . . here I am safe from wind and wave. In this moment, I feel I am sleeping with Him in the bottom of the boat, unfazed.

The storms of this year have weathered me.  My skin is thickened from too much sun and sea-spray. My heart feels callous – my feeble attempt at protecting myself from all life has thrown at me this year. My words are sharp, and sometimes cold. Lately, I feel the iciness of my words even as they leave my mouth.  And I hear in my head: Out of the overflow of the heart, the mouth speaks . . . 

My prayer in this moment is for the return of sweetness in my life and words.  A sweetness that I know comes only from regularly climbing into These Arms.

I know I am loved, accepted.

I know who I am called to be.

My head and heart are bowed, heavy with repentance. Every fiber of me cries out for closeness with Him. I know if I take my eyes off This Face, or wander from These Arms, I will quickly become confused, unsure, and the waves will be all I can see.

And so I pray.

It’s a start.

 

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