Once I met a woman with the soul of a preacher and a Jesus-love that made me lean in, just wanting to catch some of it. That night we met, I was her only congregation. She sensed something empty in me, and she sought to pour into it, into me, words budding with life and with hope.
What this woman didn’t know is that that morning, I found myself on my knees, bent over with my face on the floor. I was desperate, begging God to ease my fears, to calm my anxiety, to heal my wounded way of living. I was so, so tired of dealing with health issues and the endless unknowns.
But God didn’t exactly meet me in my humility, didn’t comfort me in my distress. In the midst of my turmoil, I sensed His gentle voice, “Arise, my child.”
Yet, for some reason, everything in me preferred to remain kneeling, broken and begging.
And, it was then that I realized I didn’t know how to arise…
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