Forgiven Much

Wait upon the Lord

Cringe across the face and swift footsteps taken in fearful retreat will follow upon hearing these words.

I know the drill that comes with these words.

 Keep on hoping.
 Keep on trusting.
 Keep on praying.
Keep on doing good.
Keep on persevering.
Keep on smiling, because don't you know, you have to be joyful in all this too?!

What if I'm tired? 
What if the weights are heavier and heavier as I run and wait, run without sight of a finish line?
What if I don't even know what I'm running for, after all, the body is healthy at this stage in recovery, and things are good, aren't they?

Aren't they?

The tiresome waiting engulfs the heart and I writhe in it, letting myself become churned into weary and hopeless and worn.

Then I remember the words of my victor Savior Jesus Christ to the woman with the alabaster jar. So many times I've felt like this woman. So many times I've met her in different light, because the cross will never hits your heart quite the same way twice.

How she collapsed in her shame and became tangled in her tears and writhed and her race was heavy too.

But it's where she collapsed and what she did, that's what counts. 

She collapsed at the feet of the Savior of the World.
Utterly taken in a moment of grace and shame; the filth of the past on display so that purity and newness of life Himself could come in, cleanse her beyond imagining, heal her beyond expectation,

and He said, "her sins, which are many, have been forgiven, for she loved much; but he who is forgiven little, loves little."

Forgiven much, loves much. The well of my soul has been dry of this love, and here he tells me the key: Forgiven much.

How I long to love like that woman. Love so overwhelming it spills and collapses and knows nothing but joy, nothing but vulnerable joy.

Have I denied that forgiveness?
 For 10 long months it's as if I've had a tag placed around my ankle, bearing a name that has been the monster grasping for my feet, capturing me just before I escape:
anorexia.

And a Savior longs for me to just take it off so love can come, but I've never completely disowned it. I've never completely shed that identity. I've never completely known that forgiveness.

This is the Resurrection:
I am forgiven.

Rather than allowing that tag to be my namesake, I move on to a place in my life where my name shall be Forgiven. My name shall be Friend of Christ.

It's a large forgiveness to behold, a magnificent demon to conquer, but Christ has because He lives in me and He rose and calls me to be risen too. Right here, right now. I am forgiven.

The woman that day took on a new name as well. The shameless one who loved lavishly. The one who was forgiven greatly. 

What weights are seizing you before you take up the gift of the Resurrection and bear no name but sweet forgiven lover of a Savior?

Will you be forgiven much with me today?