The weekend was filled with forever keepsakes.  No elaborate dress codes or napkins placed just so.  But worship real for the one who marks our hearts His.  The boys get it. And I love that they embrace it. Him. His heart for this world.  They are catching onto what glory really means.

No alter calls, shiny coins clanking into the offering plate or fancy Easter dresses made me his. There is a story more valuable than mine and most worthy of being told.  It's the story that so many send out wrong and pressure into people's hearts through shame or guilt.  It's a tale that can only be believed and lived when it is first felt in you.  One of truth, of trial and of telling it right. I am grateful for his ink.

I think there stands a good chance that there's an empty Apothecary jar in all of our hearts.

Willing. Wanting.

Empty.

Waiting to be used.

A space hollowed out by our own pride or fears. God didn't put it there. We did.