I am currently battling with the Nebraska Department of Education about forms and endorsements and it is really not my thing.  I am also denying myself white flour and white sugar (COMPLETELY not my thing).  I am still hiding from the gym.  I am freezing all of my parts at recess in this terrible winter weather.  And I am completely out of love with writing.  So.  Those are my struggles right now.  Those and the static cling.

But the victory?  I'm moving still.  Almost to tears Wednesday night with the high schoolers and the video on the screen covering the persecuted church.  Reminding us all that the pages of our Bibles are bloody with martyr's lives run out.  Reminding me to hold close The Words I sometimes neglect because the men who translated them into my language were killed over it and because there are people world around who will only ever touch a few pages during their lives and more people still who will lose their lives even today for having loved The Book.

I'm moving and it looks like this: a bent over giggle in the kitchen while he shakes his head because I've lost it, completely lost it, over him.  He pretends to be offended but he knows this is just me looking at him and loving him out loud.  This is us and a brief break from the shortness, the tired answers and as silly as it all is it feels good to be back here in this space where it is okay to laugh too long and too hard, where he will let me laugh and laugh and laugh and his face will not shut me down.  I didn't think to say the words out loud because they were right there on my face, Thank you.

And then this morning when they lined up because they are smarties and they are on the honor roll.  The way his face, the one who has climbed mountains already this year, broke open with pride.  The way he held his paper tight and high and careful and the way we all looked at each other: moved.

It is afternoon now and I am in the upstairs of my favorite bakery at my favorite table with a large coffee and I have been sitting here for a while now gripped in Victory.  I have been sitting here with my Lord and the words have run out.  What is there to say?   There are not words large or beautiful or strong enough but I can maybe get close-- I am gripped by a Being who cares about the kitchen moments and about the boy who climbs mountains and this Being loves to give to me: a selfish and broken sinner.  I am stacking my thanks today because I can think of nothing more worthy.  For The Word that pierces, for a husband who gives grace, and for the children I have grown to love, I am so thankful.

More than that, for the moving-- slow as it is, I am desperately grateful.  Because my heart is opening.  My sin is running.  And my love is birthing.  All because of this victory story He wrote me into.