It. was. a. week.  You know, one of those weeks that prompts you to channel your inner Beyonce and belt out “I’m a survivor…” after making it through another day.  Another hour.  In the course of a week, we had one kid with croup and another with strep.  I had one husband with a nasty cold, and he still had one wife who couldn’t even open her kids’ medicine bottles with her one functioning arm.  And right when we thought Elizabeth was going to make it through the week unscathed, she landed us in the ER a few nights ago because surprise!  She’s allergic to yellow jackets!  Fabulous.  (Not.)

But here we are at the start of a new week, alive and sorta-kinda-well.  A little bruised but not completely broken.  And gladly embracing the new grace and mercy promised to us with the dawning of each day.

Oh man, am I grateful for fresh supplies of grace and mercy.

At the end of physical therapy last week, my therapist looked me in the eyes and said, “You know what’s going to be the biggest hindrance to your recovery?  You.  You just have the hardest time relaxing.  Letting me passively move your arm.  If you keep doing the work- if you keep controlling the movement of your injured arm- you’re only going to hurt yourself more.  The only way you’re going to improve right now is to relax and let me move you.”

Well, hello analogy TO MY ENTIRE CHRISTIAN LIFE.  Little did my PT know, but he was speaking God’s words to me.  Over me.  And they’ve replayed over and over in my mind since that day.

“Child of mine, stop trying to control your life.  I’m God, remember?  I know your trust in me may falter from time to time, but my love for you never fails.  I know you may think that your life plans are best, but my plan?  It’s better.  Rest in my sovereignty and goodness.  For once, my child, stop doing and trying and controlling, and let me take over.  Let me move you.  I got this.”

Sometimes God speaks truth to us through unlikely candidates, His mercy extended to us as He saves us from our own hard-headed selves.  Sometimes He heals through the antibiotics and EpiPens that litter our counters, and that is grace.  Sometimes our brokenness best allows us to know His strength.  And that joy that’s supposed to come to us after a long night?  Perhaps that joy is there not because our lot has changed and our circumstances any better but because, through that hellish night or day or circumstance or experience, we have come to know God better.

It’s everywhere.  Evidence of His goodness and faithfulness.  Grace and mercy.  Everywhere.  Even in the rockiest of weeks.