I can see the women with their eyes wide as they tremble in front of the empty tomb.

They listen to the angel’s words – can it be? – and they scurry, terrified and full of joy.

Terrified and full of joy – I live there. It is possible to be afraid of what obedience might bring next and be full of thanks and overflowing joy and TRUST anyway. This giddy anticipation because we see all that He has done for us and we believe that He can only bring more good. Good, even in the ugly.

They see Him and they fall and the grab hold of His feet, clasp them, tangible, real feet. I live there too. Just holding on for dear life, choking back joyful sobs into the feet of my Savior.

Risen from the dead. And He does that with my life, this broken body, these broken dreams.

Beauty from the ashes. Beauty from the torture and the nail scars and the blood red life spilling out everywhere. Beauty from the black of the tomb.

Sitting in her own feces, my two oldest found her. Dogs licking her face, flies swarming her wounds, the ten pound, three year old little darling that would teach us to stretch even more.

She had been living with her uncle who though he loved her was only 17 and had to go to school early each morning with no choice other than to lock her just outside the front door – sometimes with a little food if he had any. There she sat, unable to walk or even crawl as the dogs ate her food and the children of Masese threw stones and sneered.

So Margaret scooped her up and brought her home. It was a hard day and there was too much, but what was the alternative? And though I was anxious and unsure we would be enough, in these terrified moments I find myself full of joy, so we gave her a bath and a warm cup of milk and the rest… the rest is just grace.

Two months later and 15 pound heavier she was ready to go to the village and join her grandmother who is ready and excited to raise her. A few nights ago I stood long on the front porch as they drove away. This happy, healthy, redeemed from the brink of death baby that I had poured my heart into and her sweet uncle who was rejoicing in seeing her well and being about to take her to her grandma’s in the morning.

Tears welled, but a smile swept across my face. To give of ourselves, to give all – this is happiness.

Lochoro’s grandmother lives about 10 hours north of here and while she has been welcomes to always contact me if she needs anything, the likelihood that I will be seeing those sweet chubby cheeks or hearing the high-pitched squeaky voice that I have grown to cherish any time soon in pretty close to none.

Yes. It is hard. But oh, it is good. Because obedience – its all I can do. And Trust – its all I have.

Today we welcome baby Eden into our home and our family. She is three weeks old and coming out of withdrawl from whatever drugs her mother was using when she was born. We will keep her for a month or so, until some friends of mine can find a more permanent solution or family. We have been so loved. The only thing we know to do with that love is give it away.

And as the women in the tomb, I tremble. Because who wouldn’t tremble at the feet of this Savior? At just a glimpse of all He might have planned? But I trust and I fill with Joy and Peace and I overflow with Hope just as promised.

This morning I bend low, clasp His feet. Whisper thank you that He can use my broken self to heal another and another. His love spills out and we spill over – terrified (the good kind!) and full, so full of Joy.

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