Now the house is deeply silent. Shh....kids asleep. Husband asleep. And here I sit in the white space of this computer screen needing words to wash down the day somehow. To connect to Jesus. To slow down low so I can hear His voice...the gift He gives when we take the time to be still. Quiet. It's late. But it's not too late to sit at His feet. Listening. His still small voice filling everything that has been emptied out in the day. In the living. In the sinning. In the wanting. To live right. To walk that holy road. And don't you just love the way He still washes feet? The way He takes ours, covered in dust and dung, right there into His hands. His hands! Washes our sin away and helps us to keep our walk clean. Pure.
How He takes us in, even when we come late. Takes these lives, potted with holes, in His hands scarred with them, and breathes life into us. Fills our lungs with a ressucitating breath. Healing the wounds that mark us as His own, and filling us with joy that we are His. Own. WE ARE HIS OWN!
He waited a long time for me. I thought it was too late, but He promised me it wasn't. And did you know that it is impossible for God to lie?
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life. For God did not send his Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him." John 3:16-17
Not too late.
Never too late,