The good news is in the green of grass.
And the green of my stomach as it churns.
While resting in the arms of a Savior.
Who loves to care for His children.
The broken down.
I vomit life and grief and the weight of all this world.
Right into the bright orange of that bowl.
The prayerful intentions I had for some time away with Him.
All about Him.
Seemingly ruined, but...
He always knows the plan.
And as I crawl across the floor to the bathroom.
I see what I wrote in permanent marker on the outside palm of my hand.
And it makes me cry out.
"Oh, Jesus, please not this way. Not like this."
I cover my hand and groan.
But I know.
And He takes all the sick of me.
All that is vomit and shit.
And He wipes it away.
The God of the universe cleanses me.
He hovers over my bed with washbasin and towel.
Over and Over.
That He doesn't remember my sins.
That He casts them behind His back.
That He buries them in the depth of the sea.
That He remembers them no more.
Jesus. Doesn't. Remember.
But He knows that I do, and He gently washes the stains.
Whispers the Psalms and the Gospel.
The Good News about a GodMan named Jesus.
Who came to save the lost.
The blind, the lame, the unloved.
The bed spins beneath my head while He whispers on into the night.
And I drift on His voice singing waves of Grace.
To make the sick well again.
To make us all well.
The Gospel. The Good News of Jesus Christ.