I heard the pained cries of a fallen child, somewhere near the swing-set. Her howls echoed past the shed, across the long stretch of yard, and through the closed kitchen windows.
“Mommeeeeeeeeee! Help! Help me, Mommy!” she cried.
No barrier thick enough, no gap wide enough, no wall thick enough to muffle the pierced screams of a child in pain.
Arms dripping with dishwasher, I ran. Without shoes. Without a coat. Without second-guessing. I sprinted. I dashed through the door with a singular purpose: to rescue the fallen child.
Panting, I reached her, cradled her, carried her in. The girl, with her bloody knees and the bruised pride. She’d fallen, and though she could walk, she’d rather be carried, arms hugging my neck.
And so it is with the the children of God, and the running Savior who dashes through Heaven’s door to rescue the fallen.
We were broken and bruised and if we were able to walk, we were no longer willing.
We cried out. No barrier could muffle our pained cry. No wall could silence the echoing anguish of the sin-sick.
I suppose He could have turned His back, settled deeper into the throne. But He sent a Savior. He didn’t even wait to put on shoes. He came as a child, born in a barn.
Our majesty, amidst manure.
The Savior, breathing first breaths in a stable.
He meets us in a manger.
He connects us through a cross.
Instead of eternal life-sentences in graves, we are grafted into the family. Forever.
He carries us, the bruised and the broken, and whispers, “I’ve come for you.”
He humbled Himself to make a connection, to bridge the unbridgeable gap, to close the widest chasm in the history of humankind.
And that’s what it looks like, I think, when love comes running.
Linking today with Lisa-Jo, the Gypsy Mama, who gives us five-minute writing prompts. We write in community for five minutes — no editing, backtracking, overthinking. Today’s word: CONNECTED.