Make room

I fill the space with things: tasks to finish, books to read, emails to answer, texts to send.

They aren’t bad things. But the human heart has a way of twisting perfectly fine, necessary things and making them everything.

“Make room,” He whispers—a whisper that travels up my spine, taking root at the base of my neck.

“Make room for me.”

It’s not just the margins He wants. He wants front row seats, the prime real estate in the heart He created.

“Make room,” He says again. It’s louder this time, coming to me through conversations over His Word, through His prophet Hosea.

“For I will remove the names of the Baals from her mouth, and they shall be remembered by name no more.”

He’s not here to rearrange things; He’s here to purge. Maybe not to remove the things taking up space, but to remove their power—their hold over me.

“Make room for me, Valerie.”

My chest aches, my back—there’s warmth. His Spirit settles into my heart, stretches and rolls like an infant in the womb. The spiritual meets the physical; they become the same thing.

He is making room.

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