I looked up, and it had been 7 months since a blog post! Life has been full, but not too busy for blogging. Last year, I saw a sermon online from Frances Chan on The Power of a Quiet Life, and I think that title sums up how this year has been for us: quiet. Not still; Not uneventful; Just offline. And He has made it all beautiful. I only blog when I feel prompted, and for whatever reasons this year, my writing has served me, the Lord, the kingdom mostly in the quiet place of my own home.

Sunley has had a very healthy summer and fall, praise the Lord! Her checkup in August was wonderful, and her next scheduled appointment isn’t until May of 2026. We expect more good news then. We are wrapping up collecting donations for her clinic through our lemonade stand nonprofit, and I’ll be sure to share an update when the donations are finalized and tallied!

I have felt a deep ache in my gut for years — a God-given John-17 ache for unity in the body of Christ. I have grieved over our divisions, our American consumerism model of church, our lack of intimacy with each other and with Him — all bruises on His perfect bride. Mostly self-inflicted. And the reflection in my own mirror is just as guilty as anyone else.

A few months ago, a friend of mine was sharing his heart for the church, and briefly mentioned the story of David and Michal from 2 Samuel. In that story, David is given Michal, King Saul’s daughter, as his bride. Along the journey to David’s kinghood, Saul sends Michal away to be given to another man. Later, when David is rightfully and finally placed as king, he sends men to go get Michal — The King sends an army to restore His bride.

What a parallel, and what a gift it is to participate now, both as the army and as the bride. The story of this restoration is only a few verses long: 2 Samuel 3:13-16. We actually know very little about the reunion, about Michal’s heart in it, about any of the details really. And David was certainly not a perfect king or perfect husband. But the parallel between this story and the ongoing story of Jesus pursuing His bride, the church, is not lost on me. And ever since my friend touched on this passage, I haven’t been able to get it out of my head, wondering about how it all went down.

I feel the ache of the bride for her first husband. I grieve what has been done to His bride. I feel the call of duty within the soldiers who brought her home. And I feel the pursuit from the King. What a mercy that He still longs for unity — what gentleness and patience He has with us as we messily try to repair what only His grace can mend.

I gave myself a little creative writing prompt based on this Old Testament story — I knew that was the only way my brain would be able to rest with it all. The first paragraph is written from the perspective of the soldier sent by the king to fetch his bride, followed by a few paragraphs from the bride’s point of view. Finally, the perspective of the king.

All fiction, of course, because we actually know very little about it all. But what I do know is this, what is not fiction is this: Where we become weary and hopeless, He restores. He is still pursuing, and He is reigning as king. Blessed are we to have an opportunity to participate in restoration.

2 Samuel 3:13-16

Soldier:

As his feet ascend the steps of his throne, he turns and wastes no time in making his first decree.

“Go get her.”

He needs not explain. I know exactly of whom he speaks. I see the flame in his eye, and recognize the powerful yet vulnerable ache in his voice. As my eyes meet his, his ache becomes my own, and I can think of nothing else. I spend no time at all weighing the cost or the risk. I say no goodbyes as I gather the weapons available to me. We have no time for strategy or sleep. I go to the stables only to find his fleet of horsemen already prepared.

They've been waiting for the word.

Bride:

The king’s men stand at my door, and no one in the house wants me to leave. They do love what I have become here. But I am gone before anyone can protest, shoving past confused looks and shouts of concern. I have prayed for this day, speaking to clouds as if they are messengers, and gazing at moonlight to awaken my husband's desire for me. There were thousands of voices of doubt, which recklessly aimed to throw ropes around my wrists. I am bruised from cynicism’s whips, and scarred by time and waiting. My voice has been called ineffective and my prophetic proclamations of whose I am was labeled as irreverent and hysterical. But I have always found myself afraid of my doubt more than my destination. Though loneliness marked me, I've always known him as king. I have been willing to look foolish in exchange for the knowing that he would come for me.

But…I'll admit that the days have been long. And I've grown comfortable, even settled, in this place. In some ways, it's easier here in the shadow. Shame creeps up my neck as I admit that some days I have tried not to remember to whom I belong. Yet I can't deny that there has been an ache, even in my feeble attempts to glutton myself on distraction. I have a memory of who I am and whose I am.

I have missed him, my first husband.

As we leave, I hear voices again. What right do I have to claim such a prize? I am not the bride he paid for. I've sometimes not even spoken his name for fear of ridicule. I've accepted gifts and trades to make up for the space left void in my soul. Does the king think I left willingly? Will he truly want me back in wholeness, into the innermost, or does he seek me now only to scorn my shallow contentment? Would he really send his army just to rescue me? What is left of me for him? No longer a bride by any standard; rather a used up tool of trade, scarred by fear, bitterness, and cynicism.

As always, these voices can't compete with something deep within: A remembering. And it beckons me back to him. My first husband. My king. I will go to him.

Something stirs deep in my gut as I allow myself to remember in whose chamber I used to sleep. The feeling grows as I approach the home I've always known, and this stirring begins to feel more like a washing than an ache. I remember this feeling now — It is Longing in its purest form. The washing gives me just enough bravery to approach the throne room. Once I see us approaching the kingdom's walls, I run ahead. Each step feels lighter than the last. Now that I can see the way, I need no one else. My emptiness begins to fill. My ache guides me to him – He has been waiting and runs to me, closing the gap that used to seem impossibly large. I fall into his arms. This is not a greeting I should have ever feared. His breath breathes into me the words “You were always mine.” I run no more, for he carries me the rest of the way. Even within the kingdom walls, this intimacy with the king is rare. Few can bear to watch our reunion.

King:

My bride, there is nothing I would not have given, even my very life, to bring you home. I beg you not to resist the gifts I have for you: a new robe, jewels to adorn your neck and a crown I've had made only for you. Your heritage is not your inheritance, and I hope you will stay with me. Come into our bedchamber and rest while I attend to you. Tell me of all your trouble – I want to hear it all. I require nothing of you other than to abide with me, for I know of how you were unfairly taken. I know of how your bridal purity was molested and your very name misplaced. But you have always been my bride, destined by the Father to know me deeply. We will reunite slowly, though I will admit, I want to know all of you. I will only touch the pieces of you given willingly. I know the journey has been jarring, but do you believe me when I say that our marriage will be deeper, better, and full of delight because of the journey and not just despite it? I know that I felt far from you, but I assure you that not a moment passed without my thoughts on you. The days were long for me too, and the moments of longing number more than the grains of sand on the earth.

My bride, you were always mine, and no one may harm you now that I am king. You knew I was a king before most. And now all that I have, I choose to share with you. Even my very name.

Wear it boldly, for it is yours.