There will always be one more thing to do, one more person to see, one more sentence to make better.

My body hurts. It feels like vice grips or clothespins grabbed my back in all the wrong spots. I’ve been curling up into a ball at night because it’s the only way I can fall asleep.

Today I got a slew of reminders that healing is important. That trauma lodges itself deep, and that in the name of Jesus there is freedom. In Acts 3, a beggar, “lame from birth,” becomes the bearer of God’s glory because he asks two guys for money and they heal him instead. He jumps for joy. He can’t hold that power in.

Tonight someone prayed for me to be healed, that my back would be free. He also walked me through forgiving God and anyone who could have been part of the events that hurt my back. And then he told me, “It’s time for you to go soak in God’s presence again.”

It’s time to rest. To say “no” to a few of the “one mores” in order to say “yes” to the one who is worthy to be adored. I’m coming to rest. I’m coming to soak. I’m coming to be free.


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