These days, the Kingdom of Heaven feels so close.
Like it’s seeping in through the cracks around the windows, and lighting up our home as the sun brings warmth through the sliding glass doors.
It’s embracing us in the breeze that caresses our faces as we walk around the park, and tickling our ears through the children’s laughter that bounces around the playground.
It’s enrapturing us through the melodies that constantly twirl around our heads, and enlivening us through the rhythms that bump from our speakers as we dance in the kitchen—bringing us a sense of joy & normalcy into all the unknowns.
It’s in the ring of the doorbell as loved ones come to drop off food, in the buzz of our phones as friends send words of encouragement and lift us before the Father.
It’s in the feet that retrieve the corn bag and pain meds in the middle of the night, and the hands that hold back our hair as we lean over the toilet to spill out our guts.
It’s in the tears that fall from our cheeks to the other’s shoulder, in the fingers that gently wipe each others’ eyes.
It’s in the silent middle of the night prayers, in the desperate words that leave our lips as we cry out to God with an authenticity that scares us.
It’s in the shaking of silent sobbing, in the holding on to each other tightly, in the not letting go.
Blessed are we.
Blessed are we who feel the weight of this season and wonder how we will continue to carry it.
Blessed are we who don’t see an end.
Blessed are we who take slow, weary steps from the door to the couch, clinging tightly to one another’s hands.
Blessed are we whose minds are never at rest, who wonder how doctor bills will be paid and what we’ll make for dinner, and long for a diagnosis just to know the next step.
Blessed are we who war within our heads, who tell ourselves it’s our own fault, that we could get better if we just tried harder, and that maybe the doctors who wrote us off really were right.
Blessed are we who keep putting up a fight, and blessed are we when we give up again. For whether in struggle or in rest, both grace and strength abound there.
Blessed are we who are just now learning to receive, who let ourselves be cared for, who ask for help and keep our hands open even to embarrassing amounts.
Blessed are we on the days we are full of belief, and blessed are we on the ones we have nothing left but doubt. For on those days, we are the blessed ones whose friends have the faith to break open a roof and lower us through so we can lie helpless before the One who can make us well.
Blessed are we who don’t hide behind platitudes, but come face to face with God himself, airing our biggest questions and accusations and fears and disappointments, and letting him love us just as we are.
The Kingdom of Heaven is ours.
So many thanks to Kate Bowler—author, professor, and cancer survivor, who inspired this post and continually helps me see what it truly means to be blessed. Thank you for reclaiming that word from the throes of hashtag culture, and helping me understand it in light of the Kingdom.