Honestly, I guess that I was expecting a smack-down. I know that my faithfulness has been wavering, my walk less disciplined, my progress unpromising. I grumble; I sigh. I have been grieving, not without hope, but certainly without confidence, without security. I was expecting that, should I pour myself into His Word, God would bring attention to the steps that I had missed, to where I showed reluctance to trust Him.
It reveals how little I really understand His character.
Because He did not. Far from it.
Despite my hesitance, I retreated into His Word, anyway. (One cannot live without breath for too long…) and He drew me into Isaiah. Why? I didn’t know. Until this:
In my distress, I was stumbling. I thought He might correct me. Instead, He declared His affection for me, halting, red-faced, tear-stained as I was. The King of Kings, by His own hand, offering to tend my wounds, to comfort me, to resurrect my hope.
I am astonished at His grace. And I know Him better.


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