Kinsey Thurlow

One day I met an orphaned girl who wore sunglasses, indoors, to mask her swollen eyes. Her heart was a storm. And truth is, mine was too. A month prior, I’d lost my dad to cancer. She and I, we were fatherless, together now. We ached, with different stories, but needing the same Healer to touch our hemorrhaging wounds, to hold us in His embrace. But as I mourned my dad’s death, I felt more like I was being rushed out of grief, rather than being encouraged to let God hold me—a busy schedule pressed; that accusing inner voice told me to hurry up and get myself together; culture gave me the Be strong! message. Even so, in my grieving, I’ve discovered a God who gives me permission to break, who invites my vulnerability, who urges me to take off my sunglasses and weep in His presence—because He’s safe to unravel before. So I break open in His hand, and I trust Him to be true to His name—the God of all Comfort will comfort; God my Healer will heal; the Father to the fatherless will father.

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