Baby, if you’re waking up day after day with your jaw clenched and your soul pacing like it missed a flight, come with me to the cross. Not to perform. Not to explain. Just to fall down in a very undignified heap and finally set the load down. The heavy one. The old one. The one you keep dragging back home like it pays rent.
Because my Christ—your Savior—has already handled the worst of it. Death? Defeated. Sin? Slain. You? Known. He knows the corners of your overworked heart, the red eyes, the tight chest, the prayers that dissolve into noise when words tap out. He hears what you can’t say anymore. And He loves you—lavishly, stubbornly, without a single condition attached.
That love? Take it for granted. Daily. Recklessly. Twice on Sunday.
Yes, you still have work to do. You’ll grow, stretch, bob and weave, learn the hard way, and recalibrate on the fly. But don’t confuse effort with aloneness. You are not abandoned. Not forgotten. Not held together by duct tape and vibes.
You were created by the Creator. Redeemed by the Word. Loved, every single day since days were invented, by the Encourager Himself.
So reach down. Yank those worries out by the roots. Stand up a little straighter. Ready or not—there you go.
