God: Romance Novelist

Lately, I have been so completely exhausted that I have been going to sleep every night by 9:30 p.m. and feeling like I have been at an all night rager party. I kid you not, Trever and I have looked at each other bleary-eyed more than once over the past week, garbled out the words, "What time is it??" and been shocked to find it was 9:15, for the love.

I'm too young to feel this old.

Morning comes and I putter down the hall, stiff and achy, and fix myself a cup of coffee and think about all the things I'd like to get done throughout the day that I'm pretty sure I wont get done after all because I sort of feel like I've been run down by a Mac truck.

So instead of all that productive nonsense, me and my littles have been watching episode after episode of Charlie and Lola and all of the Harry Potter movies. We've been snuggling and napping and reading stories about faeries. Ella Grace has learned how to select a cd, put it into my stereo and start it, so now she is quite capable of providing herself dance music, and has us all giggling at her little baby body, swaying and bobbing to the beat.

I have a huge stack of books I am trying to make my way through, but honestly, I can only read for so long before the words all begin blurring together and I have to just close my eyes and go to sleep anyway. I haven't felt this tired since after Aiden's birth. I miss many of my friends but find I don't possess the energy to even call them up and sound cheerful and interested on the phone. My mother called me yesterday and I attempted to make conversation, but found I didn't have a whole lot to say and didn't feel like making a heckuva lot of small talk, because, well- I'm just really flippin tired.

Andrew and Riley, my two oldest, are away this week in Louisiana for World Changers. I am excited for them, but I won't lie. It is certainly harder here without their help. Dylan is just now getting to be recovered, and he has spent the last several days lying on the couch, moaning. I *think* we are almost done being sick here, finally. It seems this is the way it is though, with larger families. One gets sick and then the crud spreads like wild fire until everyone has had a touch of it, and then hopefully it goes away and you don't have to brace yourself to survive round two. *fingers crossed*

So I guess I haven't got anything particularly profound to share here today.

Well, there's this: Being sick is simply another opportunity for me to realize that I am not God. Deep, right?

I am beginning to ask Him why? a bit less and simply say help! a lot more.

My tiredness and weakness, all this sickness... has simply put me in a position where I am more aware of my helplessness before God. I think when we are healthy and well and strong, we have a tendency to forget that we can do nothing- nothing- without God. Our very breath is dependent on Him.
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God is the Author of this great big story, where my life is a subplot. My character is still being lovingly developed. I'll be real with you: There are some parts I'd like to take a giant eraser to. I'd like to edit a few things here or there. I have this {mistaken} idea that He could somehow still get to the glorious finish without some of these ugly, difficult chapters. I'm not crazy about some of the twists and turns the story of my life have taken.

But this I believe.

He is using all this ugly, raw material, all the sin and sickness and failure and sadness, every afternoon I am exhausted and every morning my body is in so much pain I can barely pick up my babies, every broken relationship and heartache, ALL OF IT, to write a beautiful love story. Can you just picture it, God, Romance Novelist?

He doesn't allow me to hurt or struggle one second longer than is absolutely necessary for my ultimate best, for my sanctification, and for His glory. Whoa, I know. Sanctification. That's one of those churchy words. All I mean is, He never lets me fall except to pick me back up, brush me off, and point me to others who need a hand to get up from where they've bit the dust, too. He gives me more of Him and less of me, a little at a time.

I'm nothing but a cross-clinger. I see that it's sinners {me!} who need grace and it's the sick {me again!} who need a physician. That's who Jesus died for. I have nothing ugly or condemnatory or scathing to say to those who find themselves knocked down in the dust by sin or circumstances or sickness. I simply whisper, Jesus loves you, and offer my hand. Let me help you get back up, friend.

"Countless second chances we've be given at the cross." These are lyrics to one of my favorite Rend Collective songs. Do you understand that? Really understand it?

If we could eventually arrive and walk this life sinless, we wouldn't need Jesus. But we do. Every second of the day.

"A second chance is Heaven's heart."
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I've stared at this screen, reread everything I just wrote, and find myself trying to think up some sort of way to wrap this all up neat and tidy, to put a proverbial bow on it.

I've decided not to.

Life isn't usually neat and tidy, and while I'd like you to come here, to my little place, and find encouragement and hope, I don't want you to get the impression I've got it all down. I don't. Not everything in my life is resolved, and this is where I live, in the messy middle.

All I can say is Jesus knows me, this I love.

I am His.

God is writing my story and He never gets writer's block. He's not confused about the twists my story has taken and He knows exactly what my outcome will be.The end is already written in His heart; I 'm just living it out in real time. I don't know what's going to happen yet, but my whole life is trusting day to day in the heart of a loving, kind, amazing Creator who is crazy about me and who has gone to absurd lengths to rescue me, over and over and over.

He has won my heart.

And for me, that is enough.

~amy danielle