Worship music stirs my soul and it is as though I can physically feel the heaviness of life lift. I glance at my youngest bouncing as the beat pulses through every part of him, through his innermost being. I watch my oldest son kneel after communion and wonder if his prayers are the same as the ones I pray for him. I feel my husband squeeze my hand as we pray together as a church, as one mind in the body of Christ. It must be Holy Week. This is my favorite week of the year. I must add that I always fear its departure because, at least for me, I feel His love and my faith for what it really is during this week. I want to hold tightly to all of it. I don’t want it to escape me as it does more often than it should in my everyday life.
This moment I remember all He does and has done for me. I am thankful for His beautiful amazing grace that He gives to me even when I fall asleep in the garden…even when the rooster crows…even when my thorns press down on His head…even when my nails hold Him to the cross where He took His last breath. That is the power in it all though. With His last breath the curtain was torn and I can, with boldness and confidence, approach Him even in my ugliest of moments.