Glory Notes

There's a woman I know who would lay down everything for Jesus.

She already has.

And yet — when something beautiful lands in her lap, when a good thing arrives, when a moment of joy shows up at her door — she hesitates at the threshold. She tilts her head. She wonders, quietly, what did I do to deserve this?

Not out of pride. Out of love.

Because when you've encountered the cross at close range — really encountered it — you never quite shake the weight of what it cost. And celebration can feel almost... irreverent. Like laughing at a funeral. Like receiving a gift you know you could never repay.

So instead of opening your hands, you find reasons to keep giving. To serve harder. To pour out more. Because at least in the pouring out, there's a kind of holy symmetry. He gave. I give. We're in this together.

Except that's not how grace works.

Grace isn't a transaction. It was never waiting on your worthiness — not during the dark valley, not in the bright open field. You didn't earn the restoration. And you didn't earn the suffering either. Both were held in His hands. Both were purposeful. Both were love.

When you open your hands and say yes, Lord, I'll take this joy — you're not being presumptuous. You're not forgetting the cross. You're trusting that the One who carried it knew exactly what He was doing when He handed you something good. To refuse it — to wave it away, to qualify it, to earn it before you'll let yourself feel it — is, in its own quiet way, a kind of resistance to His grace.

He doesn't give reluctantly. He gives the way a father gives — lavishly, joyfully, because that's who He is. And somewhere in the giving, He is asking you to let Him be who He is.

You don't have to match His gift. You couldn't if you tried. That's the whole point of the cross — it was the gift that closed the gap forever.

So maybe celebrating without earning it isn't the absence of gratitude. Maybe it's the fullest expression of it. Maybe the "thank you" He's most moved by isn't another act of service — it's you, with wide open hands, letting yourself be loved.

Receive, beloved. It honors Him.

What does it look like, practically? Maybe it looks like letting someone celebrate you without deflecting. Maybe it's sitting in a moment of joy without immediately looking for the lesson. Maybe it's waking up on a beautiful morning and saying thank You instead of what do You need from me today?

Rest in the gift. He gave it on purpose.

And He smiles when you open it.