The mothering child coughs and it racks her hard. Eyes red with tears not shed. Groaning softly for release of stomach clenched. I see the miracle. thankfulness for a cup of water. The expectation of being able to break bread. A gratefulness for daily health that usually goes unnoticed by wee ones playing free.
I am reminded of Christ. I look deep in His revealing days in this world clouded with darkness. Read the story backward. Could He have been sovereign without the storm? Could He have been the healer without the wounds? Could He have set free the captive without the torture? We could not know grace without the undeserving blood shed tree.
"Who is he in yonder stall
at whose feet the shepherds fall?
'Tis the Lord, O wondrous story!
'Tis the Lord, the King of glory;
at his feet we humbly fall,
crown him, crown him Lord of all!"
I endure with grace because He did. I love because He loved. I care because He cared. I want to see as He sees.
Fill to pour. Fill to pour. Fill to pour. Where I was once dirt, I become a usable pot. A vessel of His glory.
Pale, ailing child sleeps, and I sneak outside with baby wrapped tight. Smiling boy child is waiting. We roll snow into men. I rejoice. Christ did that for me too. Made me something usable out of something expendable.
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