embraced

In the middle of the morning, I step back from the window, from that view of heavy clouds and leaves dripping rain like a cleansing grief, and feeling my own vulnerability, I wander down the hall to my husband. I walk in the room and he turns and I step into his arms without saying a word. I’ve discovered so many joys in having him work from home, and among them, this ability to take from his warmth when I need it most.

In the New Testament, the word tharsei is often translated take courage, as when the Lord stands near Paul in the night and urges it (Acts 23:11), and other times, it becomes take heart, like when Jesus speaks to the paralytic and first forgives (Matthew 9:2), or when He heals a woman who has been bleeding for years (Matthew 9:22). For Jesus this seems to be a favorite phrase, one He uses repeatedly. “In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world (John 16:33).” Even now, Christ issues this imperative as we face the fact of our vulnerability. Take courage! Take heart.

Early this morning I ran my finger over that phrase, and something— really Someone, moved me to dig a little deeper.

Kevin’s arms tighten around me now and I am home. He feels strong to me when I feel weak, and while I stand in his embrace, his strength makes me strong too. What’s mine is his; what’s his is mine.

Tharsei comes from an ancient Greek root, thar, which means, “bolstered because warmed up,” and (I learned on biblehub) is derived from another word, tharsos, which means, “emboldened from within.” I had stared at the webpage this morning through my bleary waking eyes, cradling a warm mug in one hand, when I read that, “For the believer, tharseo is the result of the Lord infusing His strength by His inworking of faith.” So, this looks a bit like standing by a fire, like pressing into it to get warm, while Christ kneads faith into my heart like yeast. By His heat, faith begins to rise.

A friend of mine who lived for a time as a missionary in China recently told me about the nights she spent in a village in the hills. She slept on what amounted to a stone hearth with a fire stoked beneath it, and because her hosts felt concerned for her well-being, they placed her closest to the flames. She woke up sweltering. It felt like the fire lived in the stones. I smiled this morning, remembering her story, thinking that when the Lord stands beside and bids us, take courage, the transfer of His emboldening warmth is probably more like my friend’s experience of that hearth than our hands stretched toward a tiny campfire to ward off a nighttime chill.

I lean into Kevin’s warmth now, giving thanks that he’s always so warm, and the soul-deep chill I feel slowly melts away. I am en-couraged.

When Jesus urges us to take courage, He literally means for us to take from Him–take His strength, take His warmth. Christ is the fire that burns and refines but never destroys. The closer we get to Him, the more we are transformed by what happens when His power collides with the faith He’s always working into us.

There’s a passage I turn to, one I especially love to remember when I’m tired, where Jesus says, “Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble, and you will find rest for your soul (John 11:29).”

Rest for my soul, that’s really what I’m looking for, a safe place to set down the heavy things, a place to stop trying to be so strong. Just briefly, in the ah of Kevin’s embrace, that’s the reminder I feel, that rest for my soul isn’t just an idea but a promise, and not just for later but for right now.

So how does one ever find rest beneath a yoke? When one ox in a trained yoked pair weakens, the stronger one naturally takes on more of the work. Christ intends not to crack the whip over but to bear the yoke beside. His power is perfected in our weakness (2 Corinthians 12:9). That word, perfected–teleo, refers to consummation, the completion of a process in union. I stop trying to be so strong and Christ supplies His strength.

For a moment now, remembering all of this, I rest my head against Kevin’s chest, thinking this is how it is that a marriage tells the story of Christ.