The Sweetest Mother's Day Gift!

So much of Easter is spent focusing on Jesus’s broken body, and rightly so. It paints the most graphic picture. It is vivid. It is gory. It is detailed. It is physical.
We can see the physical stuff with our own eyes. We can use our five senses to sympathize what it must have been like: the nails, the thorn, the blood. Part of us winces in pain when the story is told. We gently run our fingers over our wrists and imagine where the holes in Jesus’ hands must have been and how much weight they had to hold.

But today, I can’t stop thinking about Jesus’ broken heart.

I can’t stop thinking about the part of Jesus that can only be seen with the heart of someone who’s felt the agony of being alone. The weight of the pain and loneliness and rejection he was forced to suffer.

It’s not like one group of people hated Him. It’s not like one section of society hated Him. It’s not like one clique chose not to invite Him out to lunch. The whole world hated Him. Deeply, deeply hated.

The whole world mocked Him, the whole world cast Him aside. The whole world gossiped about Him, and gawked at Him, and left Him out to dry. He didn’t belong with the elites. He didn’t belong with the religious. He was the ultimate outcast. He was the ultimate outsider. He was the ultimate exiled.

He was there to help them, and all they did was hurt Him.

He had one, small band of followers and on the night before his death, even they abandoned Him. Even they denied Him. Even they threw their friend/teacher/brother under the bus during his darkest hour. All He asked was for them to stay awake and pray with Him, and they couldn’t do it. Then when the time came, they straight-up deserted Him.

At His absolute lowest, He was alone.

Do you know why the Lord is close to the brokenhearted? Because on that day, in that hour, He was brokenhearted. He must have been.

When you feel left out, when you feel unappreciated, unliked, unpopular and misunderstood, cling to Jesus. When you feel like people have disappointed you.

When you feel like people have taken who you truly are and twisted it. When you feel unfairly treated. When you feel unjustly picked on. When you feel like there is no one you can turn to, cling to Jesus.

Cling to the man whose body was bruised, whose limbs were torn, whose heart was trampled on for you and for me. Cling to the man who gets it because He’s been there and He’s done that.

Don’t walk, don’t dally, don’t drag your feet. Run to Jesus’ arms and when you get there, don’t let go. Pray for His unending mercy and grace and love to wash over you and spill into you: every nook, every cranny, every deep and hurting hole.

The world may not get you. The world may not accept you. The world may not like you. The world may not include you in their party of who’s who and what’s what and where’s where.

But that’s OK, my friend. Take heart. They didn’t like Him, either. He wasn’t made for this world, and neither are you.

Originally appeared on Amy Weatherly

 

So God Made a Grandmother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our book, SO GOD MADE A GRANDMA

Order Now!

Amy Weatherly

I want women to find one thing in this group: fulfillment and freedom in the fact that they are loved and worthy, and that they have an essential role to play in God's kingdom. I want them to rest in the knowledge that THEY MATTER. They are absolutely essential to God's master plan. And as they begin to sink into their roles, and memorize their lines, I want them to take a deep breath, and discover the courage to step out onto that stage. Follow Amy on her group page In & Out Beauty by Amy.

Your Worth Is Not Someone Else’s To Measure

In: Faith, Living
Woman looking over canyon

Insecurity is something we all carry in one form or another. For me, it has probably always looked confident and outgoing from the outside. But internally, it can feel heavy, complicated, and exhausting at times. And when someone comes along whose behavior reinforces those insecurities, it amplifies what was already there. There was someone I had hoped to genuinely connect with, but it was clear from the start that the feeling wasn’t mutual. From the beginning, their wall was up. No matter how kind I tried to be or how carefully I showed up, it never came down. Their distance...

Keep Reading

Lord, Give Me Faith Like Hannah

In: Faith
Woman walking in field with hand in wheat

Hannah knew what it was like to feel forgotten. She often clutched her empty womb and thought Surely the Lord has forgotten me.  She knew the bitter sting of feeling isolated and alone. She knew the anguish of praying day after day after day and seeing no fruit, not even a bud, from her faithfulness. Hannah knew what it was like to feel like the weight of the world was on her, and her hope may have dwindled. Even those around her did not offer encouragement. Quite the opposite—they did their best to sow seeds of discouragement. Yet Hannah pressed...

Keep Reading

God Carries Me Through the Deep Waters of Change

In: Faith, Living, Motherhood
Woman at the beach as waves come in

“Ahhh!” My underwater scream garbled in my snorkel tube as the manta ray’s cavernous mouth swept a hand’s distance from my face. My fingers tightened around the surfboard until my knuckles ached. My arms trembled. I jerked my head side to side, searching for my daughters, Mia and Megan. Recent college graduates, they had joined me on one last mother-daughter vacation before launching their adult lives. They floated easily on the vibrant Hawaiian water, relaxed, trusting. I wanted to borrow their calm. Earlier, our guide had explained that the LED lights built into the surfboard attracted plankton the way college...

Keep Reading

Faith After a Rare Disease Diagnosis

In: Faith, Motherhood
Family smiling in posed photo

My pastor frequently speaks of “kid pain” and acknowledges there’s nothing like it. I can testify to that. After nine months of uncertainty and unexplained issues following the birth of our now 4-year-old daughter, Harlow, we finally received her diagnosis of Pyruvate Dehydrogenase Complex Deficiency (PDCD), a life-limiting mitochondrial disease with no cure and no FDA-approved treatments. It was heartbreaking. In moments like these, a parent can fall into complete desperation. You go through a range of emotions almost too fast to name: fear for your child’s life; anxiousness about how much time you’ll get with them; overwhelming grief. And...

Keep Reading

What If I Don’t Hear God’s Voice?

In: Faith
Woman with folded hands looking up

There have been many times over the years when I’ve heard others share stories of how the Lord spoke to them or gave them a sign. Seashells scattered along a sandy beach, numbered to represent how many children they would have. A quiet walk in the park, followed by a clear sense that another little one was coming. What a blessing, I think, when I hear and read their stories. I often wonder how much more faith they must have than I do—to know with such certainty that what they heard was truly God speaking. I listen, I smile, and...

Keep Reading

God Holds You As You Hold Everyone Else

In: Faith, Motherhood
Mother holding toddler daughter on her hip, standing outside

She stands in the kitchen, hands trembling over the sink, tears she cannot let fall pressing behind her eyes. The world outside her window is quiet, but inside her heart there is a storm she cannot name. She is hurting, not because she does not love her life, but because somewhere along the way she forgot how to breathe inside it. Yet even in her pain, little voices call her name. Tiny hands tug at her shirt. Lunchboxes need packing, homework needs checking, hearts need holding. And so she wipes her face, forces a smile, and whispers a quiet prayer:...

Keep Reading

Yes, I Know Fear—but I Also Know Faith

In: Faith, Motherhood
Mother holding child's hands in hospital bed

The night my daughter woke up screaming at 3 a.m., I knew something was wrong. Her cry wasn’t the half-asleep whimper of a bad dream. Instead, it was pain—raw and sharp. Within an hour, we were rushing to the emergency room, the world outside our headlights still wrapped in darkness. Tests, scans, questions, and then the words no parent ever wants to hear: “We’re transferring her to another hospital by ambulance. She needs surgery right away.” They said “torsion.” They said “tumor.” They said “appendix.” I nodded, because that’s what mothers do. We stay steady, even when our hearts are...

Keep Reading

10 Years after My Mother’s Death, Her Faith Still Guides Me

In: Faith, Grief
Woman praying

Growing up, I was a reluctant Catholic. My mother would drag us to church, and I’d go through the motions—fingers moving across rosary beads without really feeling the prayers. But she never stopped. Sunday Mass, daily prayers, devotions to the Blessed Mother. She was relentless in her faith, not because she was trying to force it on us, but because she genuinely believed we would need it someday. She was right. My mother died of stage 4 colon cancer in 2012. My brother and I watched her suffer, saw how her body betrayed her, watched as treatments failed. And here’s...

Keep Reading

Finding God in the Middle of Disbelief: A Mom’s Journey through Faith and Fear

In: Faith
Mother holding hand of young child, silhouette

“But the Lord is with me like a mighty warrior; so my persecutors will stumble and not triumph over me.” – Jeremiah 20:11 God, thank You for making sure my son is okay. Thank You for this just being paranoia. I believe in You. I believe in Your control. I believe. I believe. I believe. These words streamed through my head as my husband drove us downtown to visit our first specialist with our 4-month-old son, Maximus. Our pediatrician had written me off, but I could not ignore the feeling in my bones that something was wrong. Tiny, hard bumps...

Keep Reading

In Praise of Indebtedness: How Threads of Reciprocity Weave Us Together

In: Faith, Living
Woman holding casserole

It all started with tomatoes. After we moved, a neighbor invited us to pick from the abundance in her and her husband’s gardens. In return for a pile of tomatoes gathered from their raised beds, I left a plastic bag of homegrown pumpkins on their porch. Later that summer, our neighbor stopped by with a recycled container full of still more fruits. By the fall, we were sharing chili and cookies over dinner at our place. Threads of indebtedness were weaving us together. For most of my life, the idea of indebtedness has tasted rather repulsive on my tongue. The...

Keep Reading