As my soul has fingers, I relate to the washing machine's frozen grip on the spigot. I, too, grip.
Grip at the source of Living Water.
Hold firm to the Living Word of God.
As David's mighty men gripped their swords till their hands were frozen to them, grip the Sword.
Don't relinquish the Word of God. Hang on to it. He'll give you the strength to.
There is the belt of truth that stays firm even when trust on my part slips. He is truth, and the truth is that He won't let my trust in Him slip away. He keeps it secured in place.
And there is a breastplate of righteousness. Sometimes the wind gets knocked out of me, but the breastplate takes the brunt of the pounding. He is that breastplate.
He is righteous covering, and tells me I am His righteousness in Jesus Christ. Now that's in the realm of too good to be true-but it is true!
It is mercy!
Miraculous mercy and grace. Grace. Grace.
"Is it true?" My knees are cramping in my warrior stance, and I hold the sword before me. Ready.
"I promise rest. Enter My rest." He loosens my grip.
Thanksgiving is my "not forgotten."
My "remember truth."
My active amen.
|Hanging the Wash|
written by: Carolyn-Elizabeth Roehrig
(from my book, PISTEUO!)