Everlasting arms

There is a sacred space that exists between the outstretched arms of the Savior.

It is not cold or sterile or far away.

It is not reserved for the perfect or the proud.

It is carved in the exact shape of me.

Of you.

Of every shattered, sleepless, silently breaking soul that thought maybe this time, I won’t make it through.

It is the size of the nights I couldn’t breathe from the weight of grief.

The shape of prayers I whispered but didn’t believe would make it past the ceiling.

It curves around the cracks I tried to hide, the rage I baptized in silence, the faith I faked when hope ran dry.

It mirrors the outline of the hospital bed, the courtroom bench, the grave I stood beside with trembling hands and hollow eyes.

The sacred space between His arms isn’t just wide enough to hold me, it was made to hold me.

To hold all of me.

My brokenness.

My bitterness.

My burnout.

My bruises.

My battered belief.

That’s what stuns me.

That Heaven didn’t flinch at the jagged pieces I handed over in trembling surrender. That the King of Glory wasn’t afraid of the mess I became when life didn’t turn out like I prayed it would.

He didn’t demand I clean up first.

He didn’t shame me for the questions.

He didn’t silence my sorrow.

Instead, He spread His arms—bloodied, bruised, beautiful—and said:

“I made room for that.”

“I am the room for that.”

“Come and fall apart in Me.”

This space, the one between His arms, is a sanctuary for the undone. A mercy seat for the exhausted. A shelter for the soul too weary to stand on its own anymore.

If the tears won’t stop and the ache won’t leave and you’ve run out of ways to be okay—then hear me,

You fit.

Your wounds are not too wide.

Your heart is not too broken.

Your questions are not too loud.

Your story is not too heavy.

Because the space between the Savior’s arms has never been one-size-fits-all.

It’s always been exactly the size and shape of the one who needs it most.

So I lay down my pieces.

And I crawl into the sacred hollow carved by mercy.

And I rest.

And I weep.

And I heal.

Held.

Known.

Loved.

Safe.