1. a supreme ruler, especially a monarch
2. a former British gold coin worth one pound sterling, now only minted for commemorative purposes
1. possessing supreme or ultimate power
· acting or done independently and without outside interference
· possessing royal power and status
· very good or effective
God is sovereign. God is a supreme ruler, especially a monarch. God possesses supreme or ultimate power. God acts independently and without outside interference. God possesses royal power and status. God is very good or effective. God is a former British coin worth one pound of sterling, now only minted for commemorative purposes.
Do we ever really think about the words coming out of our mouths? The meaning that’s trapped in and around the ink strokes and sound waves?
They have weight. They press. Leave imprints. Impact.
When you say God is in control. That he is sovereign… do you think about the implications?
All-powerful. Able to do anything. Ultimate strength.
I can’t think of anything much more sordid than a rich and powerful monarch watching his subjects subsist in poverty and turmoil – not when he has the all-powerful card sitting in his hand. Why wouldn’t you play the sovereign card if you could?
Could I maybe understand this differently? Think about it and come to a different conclusion than you?
Because when I think of strength in the beautiful movie-scene sort of way, I don’t picture King Triton. Well initially I might, but my deeper self thinks about a different kind of strength. I think about a mother. A mother who is made of tough stuff. She has hurt before. She understands death – having lost her own mother and lost a fellow friend mother. She does not tread lightly at the idea of pain and loss. But pain and loss don’t seem to mar and scar her like they do to others.
She is defined by her motherhood. Her children are almost her being. And this is not a sad thing. This is what she wants. They are not her sole identity, but she has shaped them and helped them find their own shapes. And this exposes how they are a part of her. Her shape and their shapes – they make sense together.
When she sees them in pain, because she can’t keep the pain and loss from touching their lives just like how it touched her life, she holds them close. When they cry bitterly into pillows and shake fists at the sky, she lets them. And then holds both their hands in her hands and kisses their foreheads, kisses their cheeks, their tears.
When her children tire under life weight and need a place to rest their heads, she offers her lap. And she strokes their hair. There is no safer place. Because this safe place will always be. Will always be safe. And will always be a place.
No matter the strength of the sadness, the brutality of reality, or the burden of things broken, she never bends.
She is tireless.
She will never stop. She will never stop loving her children. She will never stop being present for them. She will always answer the phone when it rings. She will always open her arms for hugs. She will always listen to troubles. She will always count them significant.
Always. Always. Always. And never. Never. Never.
It’s absolute. No maybes.
You can count on it. You can count on her. You can count on her strength. Rely on it. Her strength is so strong. She is strong. So strong.
Yet the broken world around her still turns.
Can you fault her for it? Why can’t she fix it? Why isn’t she strong enough to fix it? Or does she not care enough to fix it?
Oh if you only knew. Knew how the hurt here hurts her more than anyone. How her grief is so deep. Because she carries the grief of all her children. She pockets it, treasures it, nests it close to the grief of her own.
Her heart is so broken. Broken for her children. Broken with her children.
But a broken heart is open. While the whole heart stays closed. Her heart is open. The life-holding blood spills. Right from her chest. Right from her broken bleeding heart.
Somehow she has the strength to live with this heart. She has a miraculous heart. It’s what sets her apart. Her open heart, letting love bleed out.
And for some unknown reason, it’s mysteriously complete. This is how she was meant to be. This is how she is strong. This is the meaning of her strength. Not that she can fix every thing – but that she stands with you through the time it takes to heal. No matter how long that may be.
1. an unmoving presence, especially that of a mother
2. a type of heart worth more than any monetary value, broken but always beating
1. possessing a tireless or relentless spirit
· acting or pulling from a well of shared struggle and strength
· possessing profound withness
· very broken and very whole
God is an unmoving presence. God is a mother. God has a type of heart worth more than any monetary value that is broken but always beating. God possesses a tireless and relentless spirit. God acts and pulls from a well of shared struggle and strength. God possesses a profound withness. God is very broken and very whole.