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Makiah's 7th Heaven Day

It's gray outside today. As if the world is wearing a shroud. And in someways it's appropriate.  It used to be gray, dark and heavy in my heart.  A hidden abyss of brokenness. For so very long.  Breathing was painful and wetness never left my eyes.  I thought that stabbing heartbeat might stop.  Wished it would.  

But then the sunshine broke through.  And gifts from heaven came.  To convince me I was still loved.  Not forgotten.  Four little girl gifts to be exact.  Wet kisses straight from heaven brought through lips that were new.  And I got an inkling. A wild hope.  Just the faintest scent of it.  That a resurrection might be in progress.  

Slowly.  One weeping step forward at a time.  He has done it.  He has wiped the tears from my eyes.  Not Father Time.  He has nothing to offer but bitterness.  And reliving.  And wishing.  And regret.  Time does not heal all wounds.

But Abba does.  The one who calls himself I Am that I Am.  The only God who cares enough to come after us.  The only One who would bear our pain so that we can catch a whiff of hope.  The scent of heaven.  Of resurrection. 

And today, Sunday, was exactly 7 years.  The number of perfection in the Bible.  And I was a bit nervous this morning.  How would my heart do around so many?   But God's presence was so sweet in worship. And we sang about His eyes like fire and His hair like snow and His voice like waters.  And in my imagination I felt I was in His lap.  On one knee.  Being pulled in tightly for a daddy hug.  Peace rippled through me.  In the next second I was surprised to envision Makiah on the other knee.  Just across from me.  Tossing her blonde waves and laughing with delighted giggles at my surprise and the joy of His embrace.

And for one second I felt the wall between us was not fathoms but paper thin.  Like the distance of one breath.  Or the time between a heartbeat.  And it became so real to me again.  That all this is fleeting.  Such unfathomable joy awaits us.  In the Father's embrace.  If we will have Him. He is reaching out. If. We. Will. Crawl up in his lap with all of our disappointment.  Or anger.  Or brokenness.  Or questions.  This is not the end.

And my heart knows it now.  Not just my head.  There is a miracle waiting for you.  

7 years since I held her.  Maybe 70 will pass in all before I hold her again.  But the day. Is. Coming.  And it will feel like 7 seconds.  And today it never stopped raining.  But my heart felt victorious.  And I have a hope.  That does not disappoint.

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