Picture if you will, a woman dressed in white. A brilliant white dress, made of floofy material, with a royal look to it [it's got some sparkles in it too]. She is on her knees, face turned toward heaven. Something has hurt her, for there are silent tears streaming down her face...and her heart is in her hands, which are also lifted to heaven. The heart is not whole, it is torn and shred...blood flowing down her forearms. In her pain, she turns to the only One who's ever been able to help her before.
Not a word is said...as from heaven...reaching down...Nail pierced hands...strong...gentle. Not taking the heart, but taking the whole woman..blood, tears, brokenness and all. Holding her. Healing her...not by a show of power, not with a wave of His hand...but by His "mere" presence, by His love for her.
He places the heart back where it belongs...she doesn't need a new one, this is the new one she received long ago...Holding it in place with His hand...it is healed. She rests in the cradle of His palm...and knows no fear...for she's in her Daddy's hands.
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