Cindy Powell

My brain is on spin cycle. The Holy Spirit has been pouring in so much; doing so much. In my mind, there are a zillion sound bites clamoring for airplay. They are competing with half a dozen opening lines of posts that are mentally “in process.” Floating in between it all–mental snapshots of so many amazing and miraculous moments.  Moments of grace and glory.  Beautiful moments of eternity invading a fallen and fading earth.  

These are the unwritten stories. Stories fully alive and perfectly written in the annals of eternity, yet shrouded in mystery until someone contends for language to release them on this side. Many have been tugging at the edges of my consciousness. Searching for an outlet. Striving for clarity and release.  Nearly exploding out of me …

Nearly. But not yet. It’s not quite time … yet.

Because today … as I sit here poised to release … as I stare at my computer screen ready to reveal … suddenly the only words I want to say … the only words I want to write … really, the only words I can write … are these …

THANK YOU.

Thank you. So very simple. No story. No beautiful word pictures or mesmerizing metaphors. No clever language at all. In fact, my words seem wholly inadequate. But they are the only words I have …

Thank you, Jesus.

Thank you for loving me. Thank you for wanting me.  Thank you for never giving up on me.  Thank you for your relentless pursuit of my heart. Thank you for who you are and for all you do.  Thank you for doing more in a single moment than my words can recount in a lifetime.

Thank you for your patience. Thank you for never moving faster than I can follow. Thank you for waiting for me–far more often and for far longer than I’d ever care to admit. For coaching me and for coaxing me along, until at last I arrive at the place of wanting only your best. Thank you for your enduringly tender and kind dealings with my heart.

Thank you for your presence. For leading me to the place where my weary soul has found rest. Thank you for contentment; for peace; and for fullness of  joy. Thank you for giving me access to the one place I’ll always fit, I’ll always belong, and I’ll always be accepted … just as I am. Thank you for drawing so near that, at times, I feel the warmth of your breath on my cheek. Thank you for holding me close enough to hear the faintest whispers of your heart–and for  opening my eyes to see the depth of longing in yours.

Thank you for freedom. Thank you for the knowledge that I never have to pretend with you. Thank you for the liberty and courage to become who I really am. For the freedom to dance and sing and shout  my love for you–without shame.  Thank you for freeing me from the need to say, or do, or be something less than your best, just to prove a point. And thank you for still loving me when I forget.

Thank you for freeing me from the need to prove anything to anyone. I just need to be. I just need to be me. Because you like me. You really, really,  like me.

Thank you for believing in me. (Even when I don’t believe in myself.)

And thank you–especially–for bleeding for me.

I guess that really says it all. “While we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.”  Before there was any thank you; before there were any stories; before there were any words to write;  before there was  any response  of any kind on my part–you gave absolutely everything you had. 

For me. 

Many years ago, I wrote this simple question in my journal …

How do you say “thank you” for life?

I still don’t have the answer. All I can do is continue to give the life you have given me–right back to you.

Part of that means giving you my words. Someday, that might mean taking the time to find an expression for some of those as yet unwritten stories that keep pulsing in and out of my awareness. But today, giving you  my words (and my life) simply means this …

Thank you.  Thank you, Jesus.

(I love you.)