Most days come with the same revelation as the summer time heat. There’s the awakening to the sun’s warm hug, leaping through your window & the day’s concluding that the sun no longer lives outside your window; it has broken into your home, flooding the rooms with a muggy, suffocating hug, all the same as the little girl who pounces on her father at the crack of dawn, his energy unequipped for her level of morning enthusiasm.

This is every day summer heat, on the most rainy & most blinding of days.
But there is always that peak. There is always that precise hour the weather man warns you about. That time period from o’one to fifty-nine that they warn you could feel similar to death; an hour in which the sun shouts that this is what I got here is my best shot, as the bright star puts on his sunglasses & throws his arms open wide, pouring out a climax to our day. A moment in which we all have the same thought, that man, is it a hot day.

But really, it’s just an hour. One hour, that we base our whole day off of. The worse it can be, suddenly the defining moment. This was the hottest day of the year because at noon the temperature was 99 degrees.

Most of my days come with those one hour revelations, too, you know. The whole day, pretty average, until the one moment when my day has left me in fetal position in an empty room thinking I am so unequipped for this day. & I start talking to his Spirit, asking him if I could see Jesus for just a moment because we really need to talk about this whole thing in which I am stretched beyond what I am ready for. So he comes & sits on the edge of the bed, fingers tickling down my spine. His voice all gentleness, asking a question he already knows the answer to. What’s a matter, love, & I’m all these days I feel so weathered + I only have the smallest increments of your strength + please give me more.

& I’ll tell you his answer, though I think it’s one familiar to your heart, as well. I think if I’m not mistaken you’ve come to consciousness dazed in the corner of your bed, unaware of how you got here, too. & I think I’ve heard you whisper to the Lord come, sweet Jesus & you’ve been comforted by his hold, all the same.

& I think, love, if I really listen to the silent words he pours out over my pleading for him to give me all I need, I hear the same words that have reverberated through his life & your life & my life time & time again. Every day my strength is sufficient for you + my power is made perfect in your weakness. He doesn’t say I am going to give you the mother load of self sufficiency so that you can do this thing struggle free. He says my power is made perfect in your weakness.

When you’re weak, I’m strong.

Suddenly we realize it’s not an invitation into the storehouses to pick & choose everything we want for our days journey. It’s an invitation to lean in.

Lean on me because I am the one who will carry you on wings like eagles. I am the one who called you by name in the womb, & mine were the hands that formed you. I am the one who counts the hairs on your head & I am the one who bottles your tears. I am the one who is called the Almighty One & it was my strength, my flesh, & my will carried out that saved you from the darkest depths.

I am your storehouse, love. Lean in.

Sure the battle is every day & you will never master this life because you will never be everything you need because of how the Creator created us with these holes like cheese, where he is the only solution that will stick. Home remedies just won’t work. He’s created you for interaction with him. He’s created you for intimacy. & that’s the hope, love. That’s what to take hold of every day when you lie on what feels like your death bed. Lean in. He is not overwhelmed. He is able.

Behold, I am the Lord, the God of all flesh.
Is anything too hard for me?
Jeremiah 32:27 ESV

It’s your turn, love. Break the silence. Spill your guts.

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