June 27th, 2022
This devotion comes to us from Leigh McLeroy (http://www.leighmcleroy.com).
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I was on my way to church, stepping out the back door with keys and coffee in hand. Wearing a pair of wedge espadrilles that, given my balance issues and the unevenness of my back sidewalk, should have long been retired. But they were cute. And I was feeling kind of spry and invincible.
At least until I met said sidewalk with a thud, left knee first, keys and coffee flying. The fall was so unexpected and swift that it took my breath away. I rolled over, lifted the hem of my skirt to survey the damage, and groaned. After a hot minute I quit biting my lip and squeezing back the tears. I just sat there and cried.
Then I got up, retrieved my keys, washed the blood off my knee, found a super-sized Band Aid and applied it, refilled my coffee cup, changed my shoes and started over. But it hurt. I mean, all day. Even though I pretended it didn't.
Sometimes I remind myself of the ridiculous Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail: limbless, mortally wounded, spurting blood from the stump of every extremity and insisting, "'Tis only a scratch!"
Who am I kidding? Lately, I'm a walking "owie." I miss my Dad. I miss my balance. I miss cheap gas and kind exchanges with strangers. I long for understanding and deep connection; miss laughter and lightheartedness. Some days there's no Band Aid big enough for the hurt I feel. And you might never know it. But God does.
Even when I insist, "'Tis but a scratch," He knows better. He doesn't scorn my tears or try to shame me out of examining my wounds. He never makes me feel small for being weak. Or embarrassed for having fallen. And He won't ask me to pretend my hurts aren't real. Not ever.
He's the one place I can run when I'm done denying all is always well. Because sometimes it just isn't. He never said his own wounds were just scratches, and even in His resurrected beauty, bears them still.
- Leigh McLeroy
Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing...I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. (Romans 8: 38-39, The Message)
_________________________
I was on my way to church, stepping out the back door with keys and coffee in hand. Wearing a pair of wedge espadrilles that, given my balance issues and the unevenness of my back sidewalk, should have long been retired. But they were cute. And I was feeling kind of spry and invincible.
At least until I met said sidewalk with a thud, left knee first, keys and coffee flying. The fall was so unexpected and swift that it took my breath away. I rolled over, lifted the hem of my skirt to survey the damage, and groaned. After a hot minute I quit biting my lip and squeezing back the tears. I just sat there and cried.
Then I got up, retrieved my keys, washed the blood off my knee, found a super-sized Band Aid and applied it, refilled my coffee cup, changed my shoes and started over. But it hurt. I mean, all day. Even though I pretended it didn't.
Sometimes I remind myself of the ridiculous Black Knight in Monty Python and the Holy Grail: limbless, mortally wounded, spurting blood from the stump of every extremity and insisting, "'Tis only a scratch!"
Who am I kidding? Lately, I'm a walking "owie." I miss my Dad. I miss my balance. I miss cheap gas and kind exchanges with strangers. I long for understanding and deep connection; miss laughter and lightheartedness. Some days there's no Band Aid big enough for the hurt I feel. And you might never know it. But God does.
Even when I insist, "'Tis but a scratch," He knows better. He doesn't scorn my tears or try to shame me out of examining my wounds. He never makes me feel small for being weak. Or embarrassed for having fallen. And He won't ask me to pretend my hurts aren't real. Not ever.
He's the one place I can run when I'm done denying all is always well. Because sometimes it just isn't. He never said his own wounds were just scratches, and even in His resurrected beauty, bears them still.
- Leigh McLeroy
Do you think anyone is going to be able to drive a wedge between us and Christ’s love for us? There is no way! Not trouble, not hard times, not hatred, not hunger, not homelessness, not bullying threats, not backstabbing...I’m absolutely convinced that nothing—nothing living or dead, angelic or demonic, today or tomorrow, high or low, thinkable or unthinkable—absolutely nothing can get between us and God’s love because of the way that Jesus our Master has embraced us. (Romans 8: 38-39, The Message)
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