Mercy Like A Waterfall

"You hold my every moment
You calm my raging seas
You walk with me through fire
And heal all my disease.
I trust in you. I trust in you.

I believe you're my healer
I believe you are all I need

I believe you're my portion
I believe you're more than enough for me
Jesus, you're all I need.

Nothing is impossible for you.
Nothing is impossible.
Nothing is impossible for you.
You hold my world in your hands."

This song by Kari Jobe has been my lifeline and my torment this summer. I cling to the words in desperate and sometimes near-certain faith, singing them over and over like an incantation or a prayer. And then other times I can't choke out the words past the lump of doubt and resentment and fear that threatens to strangle me.

We sang it again this morning. And again the grief descended on me, like it does, fast, heavy, mercilessly and I'm gasping with the weight of the shame, hearing a voice that sounds for all the world like truth: your husband would be better off if he hadn't married you.

I fought back this time, struggling toward air and light, repeating, not by faith but by plain, old, unsexy desperation: you can heal this disease.

And then like a waterfall, like someone turned on the tap and let mercy spill down my head, I heard or felt or sensed: Daughter, that is not nearly all.

I can heal your grief.

I can heal your shame.

I can heal your anger.

I can heal your unfaithful heart.

I can heal your pride.

I can heal your loneliness.

I can heal your exhaustion.

I can heal ALL your disease.

And I repeat, my voice and my heart shaking a little bit less, nothing is impossible for you.