I went to church this morning. I wrote the service for my residents and friends. Seven people spoke the last seven words. We bridged denominations. We prayed together. We sang together. It was powerful. There were tears. There were heartfelt personal messages spoken.
I went to church tonight. We filed in late, as usual. Five girls paraded in, climbing over a lone parishioner on the end seat of a long row. Seated in birth order, which never happens, I noticed it and smiled. Usually one or two rearrange themselves to sit by mother or a different sister. The oldest reached out to me. She put her head on my shoulder. I kissed her head and I held her hand.
Tonight the service was powerful. We partook of His body and blood. We smelled the sour wine as it was passed along row by row. But what took
me by storm was the cross, taken down from its stand and passed overhead. Row by row, front to back. We lifted it and touched it. I cried as I touched the spot where my Savior’s head would have been crowned with thorns. I cried as I touched its length. I felt the depth and width of His love.
Why me? I don’t feel worthy. I feel the burdens of each day and I am often overwhelmed. Then I think of the cross and my burdens seem minuscule.
Tonight I am going to bed crying. Tears of regret, tears of pain, tears of loneliness and tears of heartache. Tomorrow I will awake refreshed and renewed, knowing I am loved by Jesus.
Do you know how deeply Jesus loves you? Do you know He can wipe away every tear? Do you know He can heal you body, mind and soul?