wounds, wood & wild Hope

what is ripped apart, will one day rise, and what is dead, will one day resurrect - we'll lay our wounds down on His wood.

the air we breathe in a post-Easter universe isn't the foul air of death decay but the fragrant air of resuscitating resurrection.

i breathe deep.

and the empty lungs fill - and rise - with the wild Hope.

Lord, that in the hurt we would meet people where the beams cross, the crux of Grace... and await Resurrection.

...God says yes grieve for i grieve, but never forget Who knows about hammer & spike & wood & the rising again.

to somehow let the heart stammer it out i'm trying to believe in the father-love, in the rebuilding. that God raises beauty from impossible rubble and what's been broken apart will find new life. i believe.

{ann voskamp, what God means to do when we lay our wounds down on His wood & when a family is broken}