God with us

I've been thinking a lot about Jesus's mother Mary today. About how she was a nobody. Just an average girl. Nothing special. Probably poor. Definitely imperfect. Completely human.

But she was willing.

Willing to let God work in her life in the ways that He chose. Willing to give up her dignity, honor, and cultural acceptance as a woman by saying YES to God and therefore YES to the baby in her womb.

God chose to send his Son and our Rescuer and Savior into the world through a girl who was broken, who had problems, who struggled with life and hard questions, as all humans do.

And God still wanted her to be the one to bring Jesus into this world. In spite of her sin, in spite of her shortcomings. In spite of emotions, or doubts, or whatever she may have been going through.

That is grace.

That God still wants us. Just as we are.

And if we are willing, He will work in us, work through us, and fill us with Himself. All for His glory. For making all things new. Because He loves us that much.

So I hope.

I hope for my daughters who are living in my, perhaps temporary, care. That God would make their brokenness whole. That their sorrow would be changed into laughter. Because he loves them that much.

And I hope for the children from my womb, that they would be willing to allow their Creator to write their stories. And I hope for words of joy, redemption, peace, and grace to be woven into the sentences of their lives.

And I hope for my husband. That his heart would beat in sync with our Father. That he would be clothed in strength for the days ahead.

I hope for myself. Because God can use my broken pieces. And He is, even now, creating something beautiful with them. I just know it. I choose to trust that He is doing a good thing. And perhaps a bit like Mary, I choose to be willing.

One day I will look back on this season of my life and will be able to see God's goodness and faithfulness even more clearly than I can see it now. But even in the darkest moments, I still see His goodness. In Oliver's smile, once open mouthed and gaping, is now a vertical line that squishes out his cheeks and defines his little dimples. In Lyla, slipping into my lap out of nowhere. Fitting perfectly. In the smell of Lexi's hair as she tucks her head against my shoulder while I read aloud. In Joy Girl asking for an extra kiss at nap time. In Kia spreading peanut butter on slices of bread and licking her fingers when she thinks I'm not looking. My children are a blessing.

For my hope is in Christ the Lord, the Risen King. Emmanuel.