God, Translated {a Holy Week adoration}

My flesh, loud against the gentleness of the Father, is not the final word.

Wouldn’t you know it, the very thing set to derail me, is His opportunity to shine, in me. My weakness is His perfection.

And this perspective is what sparks my adoration.

While he was still speaking, behold, a bright cloud overshadowed them; and suddenly a voice came out of the cloud, saying, “This is My beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased. Hear Him!” And when the disciples heard it, they fell on their faces and were greatly afraid. But Jesus came and touched them and said, “Arise, and do not be afraid.” When they had lifted up their eyes, they saw no one but Jesus only. Matthew 17:5-7**

“But Jesus.”

The simple phrase You inspired which explains an eternal rescue. Your Words bring me healing.

They were afraid and You translated, through Your Son. I stumble to find You and You are still, now, translating … through Your Son. Life in word, life on page, is welling up life within me.

You are Trinity, all of You one, yet for one sliver of time, You appeared separately (without compromising Your oneness) so that I might have an invitation into this union. You sent Him, so that I might understand You. You made provision for me, before my conception, in Your Son’s birth. The night He broke from Your triangle of holiness through earth onto the straw floor of a stable was the night Your Word throughout history touched the skin of another.

What she first felt was what a world would have chance to receive — God’s living touch.

Father, powerful and overshadowing, and Jesus, the One who translates. His calloused hands reached out to fearful skin.

You reached down, You lived in skin.

And Your Son, who wore You, carried peace in His fingers. All in one, yet separate for these moments, so that their hearts might know the healing touch of ages. That fingerprint on flesh, then, impresses itself on me, now.

I love you, God who made Yourself real to them and to me.

Jesus, You stood between the Father’s expression of glory and man’s great inability to comprehend. You bore witness. You lived witness. By Your witness, their eyes saw.

I praise You that by Your witness, my heart has room. The brush against flesh they felt lives within me. I adore You, oh God who is still witnessing through Your Son. I can touch You — inside of me — like He touched them, all because You shared Your Son.

Your life was a bridge. All of Him, enfolded into You, so that I might see God.

What tenderness, this great gesture that I have been invited to inherit.

Holy translation.

Love became a Man, without comprising its nature. Glorious mystery.

And to this You say, seek, and I will unfold for You. You made it known, to them, with a Man who shared their steps and ate meals with them and slept under their roofs and You are making it known to me, inside of me. He wore You so that I might wear You.

I adore You for Your committed brush with humanity.  And I see You, anew, through the Son who wore You for me.

**So …adoration — what do I do with these posts? you ask. First, if you haven’t yet, do read: Why I AdoreHow to Really Fall in Loveand The Words to Use When You’re Not Ready to Talk  to give you a context.

If you are compelled, don’t wait until you feel familiar and comfortable to start (ready, FIRE, aim). Set up a space and time in your own life to begin adoring. Over laundry or dinner dishes, on your commute to work, or in the wee morning hours — five or ten minutes is a great start. You can use the verses I list here with these Holy Week Adorations to start. Feel free to lurk or join the group of us over here, adoring daily.

Then practice praise — practicing telling your soul and telling God who He is. Even this small act of moving our mouths towards praise when we don’t feel it (especially when we don’t feel it), expands our insides.

I promise your weary soul won’t regret it.

First photo compliments of Mandie Joy. Second and third photos compliments of Cherish Andrea Photography.

View All Posts

Recent Blog Posts

When You Find Yourself Hopeless on Mother’s Day

There’s one kind of woman that still makes me cry. She stretches big bows around pink wrapping paper and makes casseroles when the mama is still hobbling the stairs and bleeding after-birth and she might as well start a pinterest account just for one year-old birthday parties — she’s been to so many. But her womb is empty. She laughs as parents recount toddler…
Continue

What Does it Mean to be Successful?

It’s Sunday night, and the only light in our foyer is from the moon, stretching its arm-beams across our lawn and bringing the outdoors inside with its reach. The house is at rest. Finally. It’s as if we all sighed — the walls, the keyboard, the well-loved doormats and me — when the last child turned off her light. Time lapse would have revealed sparkling…
Continue

The Gift of Limitations

It was a rambling college-town that hosted the race that was to be my last for a long time. It is a town where narrow dirt-and-dust roads lead to horse farms with near-perfect views of the Blue Ridge and millionaires shamelessly drive beat-up old Volvos. Eccentric. Every year, the allure of this four-miler, with its humanitarian push and socialite atmosphere,…
Continue

God Wants Our Sad

This friend’s eyes were some of the first to read the manuscript that I’d almost tucked under my mattress, hoping it would only be shared between me and God. As a timid response to the whisper from Him — write your story — I stayed up into the wee hours of the night and clicked away at the keys during nap-times. Then that…
Continue

I Share a Bloodline With The Children We Adopted

“Look, she’s calling you mommy!” said a beautifully well-intentioned friend, wanting to celebrate just how quickly we’d become a family. My little girl was building with legos in the corner and her less-than-nimble fingers needed help piecing them together. She called me mommy when she was hungry and when she needed help in the bathroom, too. We adopted our first…
Continue