Cold. The kind of cold you layer up for, and then layer up again. The kind of cold you go to bed hugging and wake up in a twisted tangled embrace of sorts, still. All with another little someone wedged in between, three quarters of the remainder of the night. There might be cricks in the neck and knots in the back, but it's been survival mode and I can't say I mind one little bit.
When there's warmth to draw near to, when there's a source to come crawling to, it's there. Every time.
I woke up one morning last week in desperate need of that source. Just make it to the sink and start the oatmeal... I had my routine, my steps, to fall back on and I was pulling for anything. There on the sill, those words met my weary gaze. I had put them there weeks ago, not knowing for such a time as this. But He did. He moved me to.
It's not a problem to be in need of the source. It's knowing where to look, when. And in a moment like that, when I've let my view become cloudy it's His grace that stretches beyond my own feeble attempts at even pursuit of Him, to meet me, simply because this Saviour loves like none other. I can't ever escape His view. His heart is far too wide, far too deep, for me.
For in Him dwells all the fullness of the Godhead bodily; and you are complete in Him, who is the head of all principality and power. Colossians 2: 9-10
And I heard Him say, Let's DO this! (made me smile) You and Me. I got this.
What a warmth to my soul...
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