Gather Me Up

Today, I feel like I’m not enough for the Lord. As though I dragged my feet before His and just fell into the dirt. My hair is a mess. My legs are tired from chasing kids. My mind is elsewhere. I made it here, but I don’t feel like I’m really here.

I get huffy when Evan and I argue. We always miscommunicate, and I almost always give up talking and look away because I have pride that I want to keep. So I huff. I get irritated. Angry. Emotional. Because I don’t want to listen. I think my opinion is better. I think my own voice would sound better.

Sometimes that’s how I get with Jesus. Huffy. Irrationally impatient. As though my fingernails hold all the answers to the world, I look down and pick at them when I’m sitting at His feet. Ignoring His gaze. Wanting to hear my own voice over any one else’s.

Today, I feel like I’ve walked too far to get here, and it’s not what I was expecting. As though the throne was supposed to be all about me.

Getting to the throne isn’t a pilgrimage. Jesus is not someone that is out of reach or somewhere else in the galaxy. He is right here with me. On days when I feel like I have to trek to get to Him, it’s because I’m the one who’s been doing the wandering. He never goes anywhere. He is never moving away from me. In fact, it’s always the opposite. It’s always me.

But where I see my faults, where I know I am the reason for being far away, I also know that it’s okay. It’s okay that I am a woman who falls down a lot and wanders aimlessly because I have this sinful, human nature within me. What makes it okay is the Holy Spirit that makes His home with me, right where that sin hides, right where my humanity resides.

I make my way back. Like the prodigal son. And just like the father in that story, Jesus brings out all the best for me. His daughter who wandered in search of something that would never taste as sweet as this.

Rather than seeing it as a return to His throne, it’s just a return to my home. Where I feel like I’m crumbled at His feet, He is never awaiting a moment to offer His scorn. My humanity thinks He is. I’m waiting for the pity, the look of frustration on a father’s face, that I have fallen short of His feet and ultimately His love.

He doesn’t look down on me. He loves to see me return. He loves to see me at His feet, hair a mess, tired legs, worn out heart. The mere sight of me makes Him glow with joy, because I’m His girl. I’m His daughter. He’s known me since the days of the garden. He’s known me since before there was time.

I gather at His feet because I know what comes next. I feel unworthy for only a moment before He reminds me again and again, for the uncountable time, that I am worth more than jewels and gold. Value unmatched by the stars. I’m gathered up in His arms. I am safe and free. Enough in every sense of the word. Worthy. And home.

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