I am not a tidy Christian.
My faith is battered and bruised, tried and tested…a totter of belief dogged by doubt.
There have been seasons I’ve flirted with walking away from it all – as if I could – thinking it a better way to raise my babies and order our family, but toying with dangerous thoughts and heretical ideas. And yet
When I’ve slogged through those valleys of shadows and death, God has refused to leave me.
When, with open hand, I’ve hung to gossamer thread, it has been he who has gripped my wrist tight, ignoring my mulish, wayward heart. When I’ve been faithless, he’s been faithful. To me...to me!
God’s long-suffering is incredible, incomprehensible, undeserved.
His grace toward me is unfathomable, exquisite, blessed miracle.
But isn’t it that way for all of us? What he’s done for us through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus? His is a royal bloodline which, as his heir, makes me a daughter of a King. A princess! And isn’t that the longing of every little girl–to be known and loved and seen as beautiful and special?
I’m walking in a season of abundance right now, where I sense and see God’s favor and goodness. Hindsight is revealing his redemptive purpose in so many things, rendering me speechless save to express my gratitude for his kindness and generosity, tenderness and love. I can barely stand it, really, receiving it all as gift, and not wanting to take one thing for granted.
I’m not thrashing quite so hard, but still…sometimes…my ragamuffin ways surface.
I hope you’ll click to continue reading “A Confession of a Ragamuffin Princess” over at Grace Table to find out my “confession.” This is about one of those little things I can’t decide if I’m over-reacting to or just being honest….