God’s faithfulness is a poem of grace,
time and weakness redeemed,
beauty shining through this brittle jar of clay.
When I typed Paul’s words at age 19, I didn’t know the heights and depths the next 11 years would hold, of the adventures Jesus would lead me on with a gentle hand and kind eyes, of the miracles I would see, of the gnawing pain He would comfort and the joy He would replace it with.
When my dreams became a trickling wound, I didn’t know that cynicism would seduce me, calling out, “He does not hear you, but I will protect you.” That for a time, imprisonment would feel more like safety than captivity. As bitterness festered so did the wounds, but He broke the prison doors and healed me, showing me that true safety was considering my life worth nothing, like Paul did as he firmly walked toward Jerusalem and death, all to complete the task of testifying to the gospel of God’s grace.
These 11 years have all been grace.
Because in my weakness and rebellion, I have seen His power and felt His pursuit.
I have seen Him use my feeble words to testify that Jesus Christ, the Son of Man, is the Messiah, is God, and that all is worthless compared to knowing Him.
Today, I once again echo Paul, confident that in 11 years, I will look back in awe at the gospel of His grace and how His glory burned bright through my weakness, making Himself known.