The blessing of the Giver

Sunday night I sat alone in darkness, wounds gaping wide to swallow me whole again. Monday night, I was at work, witness to a miracle of healing. This patient, another dear saint, was a blessing to me as those who receive are always double blessing to the giver. Every time I entered her room, she whispered to me that I am beautiful, a gift to her, another saint's hands to tend her in her hour of greatest need.

I walk away humbled. For this is why He allows our wounds, that He might heal us. Our pain, that He might bless us in ways we would never be blessed without suffering first. Would He build my gates with stones of turquoise, if first I wasn't the city lashed by storms and not comforted? Just when my heart feels broken beyond belief, the yellow glass of this tiny heart fragmented and glistening with tears, not a piece touching another...He steps in and binds each of those pieces with pieces of His own broken, bruised and torn heart, and now I am a patchwork heart of gold and red, each piece of my emptiness fitted perfectly with a piece of His own. I am not alone, I am not ever broken when He does not bind back up.

I praise for this new job, a job where the saints are marching in, and I can be one of them, left standing, the witness in the corner who signed the death paperwork and washed the body of that soul for the last time here on earth. One day it will be me, marching in, but for now I am left here, to do the work before me, to give when I am broken, to stand testament to His glory in the chaos of the critical care unit. To hold hands, to be blessed as I give.

It ain't where
It's how you live
We weren't raised to take
We were raised to give
The shirt off our back
To anyone in need

We bow our heads before we eat
Before we start our day
Before we fall asleep
Cause in God we trust and we believe
And we see what's wrong
And we know what's right

And ol Hank he said it all
When he said country folks can survive
~from Country Must Be Countrywide, Brantley Gilbert~