In the times I feel most fragile, the Lord is gentle. Holding me with the lightest touch as so I don’t crumble in His majesty, yet instead am healed in His presence.  I come to the throne and drench His footstool in my tears and He strokes my head softly as the Holy Spirit in me groans the deepest corners of my heart that my lips cannot form into words.  It is when I am gripped with unworthiness, brokenness, confusion and desperation that the Lord is most beautiful to me–as He gives more grace. He gives infinitely more grace.  He is beautiful that way, isn’t He?  Knowing that it is GOOD for us to be near Him (Psalm 73:28)–He allows the restlessness in our hearts until we bear ALL to Him–run to Him confessing all the way that I am poor and needy in spirit, that I cannot take one more satisfying breath without being totally dependent on Him alone. “Blessed are the poor in spirit” (Matt.5:3)—We are needy, poor and decrepit— I am a beggar girl in need of love and affection of Love, Himself. Blessed are we that we have the Sustainer.  The one who is enough who literally allows me to take a breath of air, makes my heart take the beats that my body can continue on.  I am a dependent creature, yet my Creator delights in sustaining me and further allows me to more thrive than survive in the midst of His grace.

I echo David, saying “What is man that you are mindful of him?” (Psalm 8:4).  Who am I? Other than a sinner, who can produce nothing of good on my own—my best efforts still only dirty, filthy rags (Isaiah 64:6).—polluted and unclean because I am a dead, lifeless girl in my sin (Ephesians 2:1).  Who am I other than a wayward daughter, not unlike the prodigal son—thinking I know better, that I owe nothing to anything other than my happiness (Luke 15:11-32).  Who am I other than a Pharisee, praying vociferously at times, judging the other sinners, walking too proudly in the head knowledge I fool myself into thinking I understand and live by.  Who am I other than a rich young ruler—blessed in too many ways than I can count, who refuses to find life in someOne other than possessions? (Mark 10:17-22).  Who am I other than Peter who can speak my loyalty more eloquently than they rest, yet deny Your name before the rooster crows in the morning? (John 18:15-27)  Who am I other than Judas, betraying my Savior and covering my deceit with a kiss? (Matt. 25:49).

Who am I, Lord, that you are mindful of me, that You care for me?

It is in these moments.  In the moments that say that I am worthless.  The moments that help me identify with Paul when He says, “of which I am the worst of sinners” (1 Tim. 1:15).  These very moments are when my Lord holds my head in between those gentle, pierced-scarred hands and says, “You, my daughter, are who I have chosen, whom I have died for.  You are one who I desire a deep and rich relationship with.  You are more than what you were or do because You-are-Mine.”  In these moments I come undone.  I weep.  Like the woman soaking Jesus’ feet in her tears, He says about me “I tell you, her sins, which are many, are forgiven—“ (Luke 7:47).

The lies that surround me and threaten to choke me fade away as the faith of even the smallest mustard seed allow me to move mountains of worry, anxiousness and fear away (Matt. 17:20-21).  It is in the vulnerable state on my knees crying out that I believe that I am more than a conqueror (Rom. 8:37) as my Jesus has already sat down, proclaiming “It is finished” (John 19:30).  There is beauty and strength that is found in the fragile state of my being.  The deceiver that tells me “You are not enough”—I hear the truth from my Father “on your own, no, you aren’t—but I AM more than enough and you stand with me.”

I stand confident with the Great I AM.

For most, fragile means weak.  Fragile means pathetic, lazy, done, scared.  But at the foot of the Cross, fragile means beautifully humbled and dependent on the One who calls me His own.  Fragile means treasured and looked after.  Fragile means secure.  Fragile means that my heart is swollen with grace and gratitude.  In my fragility I can “ give to the Lord the thanks due to His righteousness…” and “Sing praise to the name of the Lord most High” (Psalm 7:17).

True, it is hard not to be jaded in a world full of hurt.  It is hard to bear my heart and to trust—at my core I want to be in control—but the One who holds my heart, says to me “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways”…”For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.” (Isaiah 55:8-9).  In my fragile state is where I find how loved and treasured  I am.  In fragileness I find a beauty that is unable to put into words and in that silence I find rest. In that stillness and quiet I find my strength. (Isaiah 30:15)