Carried

“I lift my eyes to heaven and remember I am loved.

I lift my weary hands and let my Father pick me up.

More than answers,

More than healing,

God, your presence is enough.

I lift my eyes to heaven and remember you’re still where my help comes from.”

These lyrics from “Lift My Eyes” by I AM THEY have been on a constant circuit through my head and heart for the last four months at least.

As I listen to or sing the chorus, deep cries to deep within me, and the words hang suspended in my closing throat.

“I lift my weary hands and let my Father pick me up.”

It really stinks being a sick adult, especially when you have struggled with shame-based perfectionism and drivenness. Nearly seven years later, I still am needlessly stubborn, even in the depths of pain.

And still, there’s this child of God crying within my heart to be held by my Father: Oh, to be carried through this storm, leaning on the strong arms of One with a love for me infinitely broader and deeper than the collective oceans of the world.

But even as I write this, I realize….I am carried. That’s why I’m still here. That’s why I can worship. That’s why my days are marked by peace, joy, and beauty: Because He, my great Father, is lifting me up

As this deep resonance of the Spirit opens the floodgates of tears, I am reminded of the word the Lord gave me for the year on January 1:

“Carried.”

I love my Abba: His winks, His forehead kisses, and His supporting everlasting arms. Because , truly, more than answers, more than healing, His presence is not simply enough: His presence is my greatest good.

This is my story. This is my song. I lift my eyes, I raise my arms to heaven, and my perfect Father tenderly lifts me up. I’m carried. I’m held.