My God.

I am 48 years old.

Life is fashioned by mountains and valleys, some valleys caused by our own failures, some by others.

But God. His faithfulness.

I live with little regret. Not because I don’t wish I had chosen different paths at times, but because I have learnt – because I know forgiveness, I have experienced grace, because I know my life is worth nothing except through His eyes and His heart.

Just as Covid hit, I left my husband. I was jobless, threatened with homelessness, broken. I am so thankful for my adult children who loved me through the deepest despair and the ache I carried. I’m so thankful to God who provided a job, who still has me housed, who has brought peace through this process.

And now, I am learning to linger. To embrace the joy in His presence. To wait on his voice. To let his love sprinkle down and wash over me, refresh me, sustain me.

And as I complete this healing phase of the journey… all that was broken is ready to be poured out to Gods women. To be an ear, but mostly to point them to the one who loves to linger with us. The one who walks beside our rippling streams, the one whose love is in the leaves that fall, whose tears are in the rain, and whose faithfulness is in the stars.

God. The kinsman-redeemer. My God.

One thought on “My God.

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