My sweet Leighton is having an early nap. Quiet house, a cup of coffee and a few moments with my Bible. Sometimes I start out to pray and “do” the quiet time thing, but I find myself at a loss for words. A vague awareness of His greatness clings to my soul…I remember I am just a woman…He is God. Yes, God. Not my pet…not my project…not my genie in a lamp.
Sometimes I can only say thank you.
Sometimes I can only get down on my knees.
Sometimes I remember I have nothing to give that He hasn’t given to me.
Sometimes my wordless prayer is louder than the many hollow words I speak.
I open to Matthew chapter one and consider skipping the geneology of Jesus. But I don’t and so I am struck hard when I read this:
Salmon had Boaz (his mother was Rahab)
Yesterday I finished reading Ruth. I wrote about this Moabite woman who surrendered her life and how God’s perfect provision included Boaz.
Boaz…whose mother was Rahab.
Rahab protected and helped the spies sent to scope out Jericho. The book of Joshua tells her story. Because she recognized and believed in the one true God her life was spared. She lived among the Israelites and is indeed recorded in the geneology of Messiah.
You know, I can’t even get past the first six verses in Matthew this morning without thinking about hearts. God looks at hearts. Rahab was a prostitute and yet she risked her life to help God’s people. Do you wonder why the spies ended up hiding in her home? Was it accidental…a happy coincidence…or did God see her bruised heart?
I’m thinking sometimes bruised hearts bleed easy for others.
I’m thinking sometimes it’s those who are walking wounded that stop to bandage the wounds of another.
I’m thinking it is those who understand brokenness that help someone else pick up the pieces.
Rahab was sinning in her body but surely her heart and soul took the greatest beating. How could her heart and soul not be bruised and broken?
Yet her bruised heart was a tender heart.
A heart that perceived and put her hope in God.
Bruised hearts bleed easy. They know pain. They recognize unspoken hurt in the eyes of the needy. They see the gaps others miss. Bruised hearts can be compassionate hearts. Responsive hearts.
We all know pain. At the hands of others or perhaps self-inflicted. But I sincerely believe God is a God of hearts. I believe He cares far more about the finish line than how many times we trip and fall trying to cross it.
You know what’s beautiful? A bruised heart bleeding compassion and love on those yet to heal.
Sometimes living bruised is what heals us.
Sometimes a broken heart is what frees us.
Rahab might have died a whore. Unknown and unloved.
But she didn’t.
Her bruised heart bled hope. Bled help. Received healing along the way.
Her legacy is ours to behold.