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I know that Easter is the most important Christian holiday. I know that in my head. But growing up mostly as a "good girl," I haven't always felt the weight of what this weekend truly represents. Many times in my adult and more mature Christian life I would pray leading up to Easter that I would just feel it, get it, understand it. That it would be more than spring clothes, peeps, and the day I get to eat cheese or sweets or whatever I gave up for Lent in an attempt to gain some kind of focus.
But the Gospel - all of the hard parts of it - have taken on new life for me lately.
We've had a really rough few weeks. The honeymoon phase with our foster daughter has ended and the stress levels have been extremely high. I have felt frustration - so so much frustration - and if you know me well, I've probably griped about it to you. Rightfully so, there are so many confidentiality rules with foster children and therefore I have to keep a lot of the burden and stress kind of bottled up inside. I'm angry at what's going on at home, angry that it isn't getting easier, and angry that I can't talk about it. Lots of tears, lots of early nights, lots of inner (and sometimes outward) wails of frustration.
It's somewhat obvious, but words are therapeutic for me. I "work through" my issues by talking them out or journaling or writing. I like to feel known and understood. But our current season of life is the first time in many many years that I've had to mostly keep things in and I'm embarrassed to say that my inner brat hasn't always handled that so well. We will get comments on how sweet our kids look or how cute someone is and I sense that there's this feeling that we are all rainbows and cupcakes at our house - this sweet and happy foster family making a difference in the life of a child and I want to be like ummmm no. I want to scream it. I want to selfishly make this all about me and explain the ins and outs of why things have been hard and all of the wrestling that is going on within my soul. I want to make you understand that this is anything but roses. It's probably good that I can't because I have so much pent up frustration that if I was able to talk it out I would probably scare some people away.
Our day-to-day living is about as beautiful and neatly packaged as the Gospel. It is messy. It is hard. There are stubborn people involved (myself being the greatest). There is pain, there is hurt, there is brokenness, there is betrayal.
And yet, there is beauty.
There is beauty - in a hard and ugly way that I don't enjoy - of being reminded every single day of God's consistent and unwavering love for my stubborn soul. There is a redemptive work being done and refining taking place in our hearts as we learn how to be persistent and battle on. I feel like I'm wearing combat boots and trying to trudge through a field of mud. I am tired. But I am feeling the weight of the Gospel almost daily. I am learning how unconditional love is so unlike me. And it has forced me to my knees in a spirit of brokenness.
I cannot fathom a love that is always there, always accepting, ever-embracing, never condemning, always just, always right, always good. I do not deserve that. And yet I have it. And you have it.
To God be the glory.
How deep the Father’s love for us,
How vast beyond all measure, That He should give His only Son To make a wretch His treasure. How great the pain of searing loss - The Father turns His face away, As wounds which mar the Chosen One Bring many sons to glory.
Behold the man upon a cross, My sin upon His shoulders; Ashamed, I hear my mocking voice Call out among the scoffers. It was my sin that held Him there Until it was accomplished; His dying breath has brought me life - I know that it is finished.
I will not boast in anything, No gifts, no power, no wisdom; But I will boast in Jesus Christ, His death and resurrection. Why should I gain from His reward? I cannot give an answer; But this I know with all my heart - His wounds have paid my ransom.