Have I told you lately that you are amazing?
If it's been a few months, a few weeks, a few days, it's been too long.
It seems I am better at words when they are here, written down in front of me, refined by time and tears and Truth Himself. When I am with you, I am far less prepared, articulate, put together.
But you see, that's just it. I come to you as I am. I come fumbling, faltering, holes in my story, searching for words that I can't seem to find. And I come that way because you make it possible.
You make it possible for me to be who I am.
Do you know what a glorious, irreplaceable, uncommon gift that is?
The other day when I asked you what you see, through soul-grief tears you told me this: Ordinary, not lasting, unimportant in the grand scheme of life and Him and all of this.
But just for a moment, will you sit here in my chair across the table from you and see what I see?
I see a woman of strength who has never been defeated by the harshness of this life. I see a woman who loves her God with every corner of her being. I see a woman who deeply longs to ease the suffering around her--and will do everything she can to do just that. I see a woman who grows relationships with patience, compassion, commitment, and her whole heart. I see a woman who prays with the kind of persistence and faith I have only yearned for. I see a woman who lives out what she believes more than any person I've ever known. I see a woman with the courage to be uncommon.
From where I sit, there is nothing ordinary about you.
Maybe that's why He chose you to play the hardest part in my story. In this painful, halting, piece-meal returning of my faith, there were others who inspired me along the way, others who encouraged me to find what I had lost, others who taught me how to grieve in faith. But it was only you who carried me.
In two of the hardest years I've ever faced, you carried me.
You didn't shame me for my grief. You didn't shame me for my doubt. You didn't shame me for my anger. You didn't shame me for my apathy.
You didn't shame me.
Instead, you loved me. You carried me. And you stayed.
Thank you, thank you, thank you for staying.
And I hope, pray, beg for you to stay as long as He will allow.
Please hear this, way down deep in those soul corners that yearn and hurt and fear: You are a strong, beautiful, compassionate, God-filled woman who breathes only blessing on those who are privileged to enter your life.
And all you have, all you are--they are more than enough. For me. For Him. For all of this.
Know it. Believe it. Live it.
All My Love,