Wednesday 30 December 2015

He's Six!

Every so often, one too many dinosaurs on the floor or cars between the couch cushions breaks this mama-camel's back and the frenzy begins.  I'm off on a mission to return every stray creation to the Lego table, organize the helter-skelter book shelf, and declutter the bulletin board of its many now-one-eyed masterpieces.  As I work my way room to room, I eventually find myself staring at the cave that is Niko's bed.

First I haul out the blankets - of which there are four, plus a bathrobe that is used as a blanket.  Then the five pillows, eight stuffed animals, two Hot Wheels, four pieces of Lego, a paper airplane, two books, and a basketball.  Not to mention the four brightly coloured shoelaces that are woven through the slats of the bunk above his and hang down like stalactites and the rat's nest of scotch tape supposedly keeping them in place.  

It makes me claustrophobic just to think about sleeping in this chaos as I put away the toys, books, shoelaces, two pillows, and half the stuffies.  I spread the remaining stuffies out, hoping I can get away with this purging.  Because if there is one thing I know about Niko, it is that he is equal parts method and madness.   

The same kid who carelessly forgets where he put his favourite toy for days on end, can remember that the small dog won the jumping competition when we went to the Brandon Winter Fair almost two years ago, while the big dog knocked the obstacle down trying to jump over it even after three tries.  

The same kid who struggles to grasp the bigger picture of how his behaviour affects the people around him, has built a detailed map in his mind that allows him to navigate routes to Gramma and Grampa's, the ice cream store, McIvor park, the arena, downtown, and countless other places.  

The same kid who has been wearing shorts all winter, who sleeps between fleece sheets all summer because he 'needs to be cozy', who throws tantrums before every Christmas family gathering that I want him to wear a polo shirt for, is also the one who is most likely to give hugs, drape his arm across my back, lay his head on my shoulder, or sit his 50+ pounds on my lap.  

Negotiating the juxtaposition of Niko's extremes can make some days a bit of a minefield, and I find myself on my knees in prayer at least as often as I find myself on them to clean up a mess of toys or a mess of hearts.  

In it all, I find my mind wandering once again to the enigma that is my Saviour.  Full of juxtaposition of His own, His holiness butts up against His humility.  His majesty interfaces mysteriously with His mindfulness of me.  He is brimming with glory, yet it is His grace that overflows.  I almost have time to finish my thought when I hear the accusing words.

"WHERE ARE MY STUFFIES??"  

I shake my head in amazement as my son lists, ridiculously, every stuffed animal I dared to remove from his bed.  Apparently there was, as I should have known, method to his madness.  

Monday 21 December 2015

Connect

Papa, You came to connect and I, of all people can understand that.  You came to empathize with one side by taking on its form.  You ate its meals and felt its feels.  You wore its skin and hugged its kin, donned its clothes and dirtied its toes.  You were one of us.  Except for where You also weren't.  Because You were one of us for the sole purpose of connecting us with Who You really where and Who You really came from.  I know the desire to connect.  I know the drive to reach out, to extend empathy, to remember, to remind.  I know the desire to love and be loved.  In my heart of hearts, I want to believe that You desire me that way.  And I want that truth to change my every word and motive.  Papa, You sent Yourself in my likeness to make the ultimate connection for me and I adore You for it.

Tuesday 15 December 2015

Mother (Luke 1:43)

I find it fairly easy to imagine how she held You to her skin, just moments after You were born.  I can picture her swaddling You, cuddling You, nursing You.  I can feel the joy she treasured up in her heart.

But at the end of my day I wonder, did she tell You 'no' or haul You off the table for the umpteenth time?  Did she grab Your hand when You tried to run across the street or holler for You when You dawdled far behind?  Did she shoo You out of the kitchen before dinner or require that You help with the dishes?  Did she ask You four times to wash Your face or send You to play outside?  Did she insist that You eat Your vegetables or refuse to listen to Your sixth bedtime excuse?

Did she sigh about Your mischief and miss seeing Your strengths for what they were?

Did she tell You she loved You as many times as she told You 'just a minute'?

Monday 7 December 2015

Mighty (Isaiah 9:6)

Papa,
You are the mighty God.  Today I adore You in that might, even as plead for it in this little pocket of family that is overwhelming and fragile.  Lord, my biggest little needs Your might today, this week.  He has looked his weakness in the eyes, yelled at it, and been brought to tears of humility.  Show Him Your might in overcoming.  Show Him Your might inside of him in places He never knew.  May my heart and his beat in rhythm with the movements of Your mighty grace within these walls.

Tuesday 1 December 2015

Tender (Psalm 119:77)

Tender is one of those things that you can't be on the inside without it being obvious on the outside.  It translates accordingly into words and actions, posture and attitude.  Amidst the power and glory of my God, perhaps I haven't put much thought into His tenderness.

But I whisper-adore under my breath as I put in the first load of laundry, trusting that this truth will become my truth this day.  I watch the sun ease it's way above the trees and picture His hand cupping it from below, slowly and tenderly lifting it to fuller brilliance.

I think of chosen gentleness in the face of anger, chosen laughter in the aftermath of dissension.  Sometimes tenderness is deliberate, I suppose.  A gracious response despite preceding circumstances.

But sometimes tenderness just leaks from a genuine heart.  Amidst the rowdy chaos of family and pizza and birthdays, a little boy strokes his baby cousin's cheek, the younger one's eyes adoringly fixated on the giver of the gesture.
His tender mercies come to me.  And my response could not be anything but wholehearted adoration.

Monday 30 November 2015

Through Hurt

Through this journey of you and I hurting each other (if I may borrow your words), I have learned that my sins are much greater than I ever knew or imagined.  I have learned that I am far more hurtful than I would like to believe.  I have learned that my brokenness is even uglier than I pictured.  I have learned that even my strengths are oh-so-weak.  I have also learned that God's grace is boundless, His love is limitless, and my need for that grace and love places me right at the centre of it over and over again.  I have learned about forgiveness and the complexity of relationships.  I am learning to shift my focus and lift my eyes above me and above you.

I pray that we will both find the source of our worth in the One who made us and not in anyone else - be it for good or for bad.  

Friday 27 November 2015

There is the rowdy chaos of nine little boys as a backdrop to every bite and conversation.  This doesn't help my ability to slow my heart rate and be joyful.  But even still, in my heart of hearts, I know it is not as superficial as that.

I am sad that things have changed in so many directions and I find myself not fitting in.  An invisible stranger in my own family.  The couch feels like it is swallowing me as the conversation pushes me down farther and farther.

On one side there is she whom I cannot talk to because the pain and risk of pain is too great.  On another there is she whom I love but desperately don't want to put more in the middle than she already is.  Across the room there is another, who I really hardly know and when I want to start a conversation I am always talked over.  And there is one more, who sometimes seems to be everywhere, and I just can't be quite selfless enough to be interested in the advance of car technology and the population of Mars.

And there I am.  Alone and silent.  A far cry from what it used to be.  Have I changed or have they?  How do I not fit in to this family that shares my blood, my sense of humour,  and my memories?

Monday 23 November 2015

Hope

Her picture hangs in my kitchen and I look at it several times a day.  Amidst the meal-making, the zipper-zipping, the remnant-sweeping, and the backpack-assembling, there she is.  Just below the lists, schedules, and reminders, there she is.



And even though I never knew her, I can't take it down.  Because a parent should not have to bury their baby.  Nobody would argue, we all know that grief is just too much.  Our hearts break and our anger rages against this injustice.  And yet all around, there is sorrow, tragedy, unimaginable pain.  Over and over the unthinkable explodes in unsuspecting homes.

So next to the ordinariness of grocery lists, to-do lists, and babysitter lists, is this little girl.  The butterfly that dances care-free across her funeral card belies the magnitude of the message.  There is only one certainty.  Only One.  He guarantees nothing in terms of my circumstances, but everything in terms of His loving grace.

I will not live in fear, but I strive to walk in conscious adoration of who He is and thankfulness for what He has done.  For the depth of His love and its rightful place as my All, my Only, my Strength, my Source.  In Him I live and move and have my being.  And, when all else fails, in Him is hope.

My misty eyes flit back past the butterfly to her name.  In the centre, where it belongs, Hope stands defiant of circumstance.  And I am humbled.

Wednesday 18 November 2015

You know (Psalm 139:1)

You have searched me and you know me, O Lord.
You know my exhaustion and my exasperation.
You know my tired eyes and tired sighs.
You know my doubts and dread, my full and weary head.
You know my facade and you know where it is flawed.
You know that I bellow, holler, and yell.
You know that I don't want to build another fort
and you know that my fuse is oh-so-short.
You know my wit's end and the time I spend in this hell-ish trend.
You know what is only mine to know.
But you know.

And oh, how you love me so.

Lord, when I am so helpless and weak, sing Your song of delight over my soul so that I too could know.  That I could know the depths of Your unconditional love in the depths of my desperate soul.  That the glorious riches of Your greater grace could be the melody of Your song that is with me when I awake.

Thursday 5 November 2015

Ephesians 1

It's so much easier to believe that His grace was given at the cross, to save me to Himself once and for all time.  It's so much messier to believe that His grace is lavished upon me time and time again, in the abundant forgiveness you pour out over each individual falling-short.

Wednesday 4 November 2015

Your Song (Psalm 42:8)

I heard it in the heaviness of the fog that sat above me, eyes unable to see You but soul clinging to hope for new chances, fresh starts, and forgiveness from the one who bears larger than his fair share of my wrath.

I heard it in the three-part harmony of giggles and melody, gleefully singing back songs of Your goodness, my soul rejoicing in their praise even as it recognizes Your heart for them is bigger even than my own.

I heard it in spritz of juice and festive scent of mandarins filling the room and settling gently above the chatter of women who trust, who share, who grow, who uphold.

I heard it as the orchestra accompanied my expanding view of the room where we all live together.  Smoothly layering its chaos and order, glory and grace into a masterpiece of family that is as riveting and revolutionary as it is real and regular.

Tuesday 3 November 2015

Consider (1 Timothy 1:12)

When I stop to consider that He considers me, suddenly it's the only thing worth considering.  At least until something falls or someone calls.  Yet even then my heart rejoices amidst the broken pieces, because He considers me.

Monday 26 October 2015

Here we go, from the top
Open Bible, open window
Old words, new morning
Old truths, new mercies
Sun emerging, thoughts converging
Weaknesses many and mighty
Strength in Him alone
Lies rejected, grace accepted
Here we go
in His power
in step with Him

Wednesday 14 October 2015

Seasoned

I hate how weak I am when it comes to grace and patience - particularly inside these walls.  Particularly with these four I love most.  I don't want to bark at them or snap at him.  I really don't.  But I am so weak and so tired of the endless cycle I am stuck in.  I'm so weak and I'm so sorry.  Sorry that it's going to happen again in an hour or two or maybe less.  What could He make of me if I believe that my glaring and embarrassing weakness is truly His strength?  What if I just stop?  Just slow down and let His praise wash over my lips?  What if every conversation is deliberately seasoned with grace because it is slow and careful and gives me time to behold Him?

Tuesday 13 October 2015

Inside Me

Sometimes I just run away.  A few times a week it is in the form of literally lacing up and running down the sidewalk.  But right now it's just in the form of leaving on the premise of laundry or dishes or something-believable and then ending here.  On the couch in the dark in my thoughts.  Breathing deeply and feeling the oxygen reach to the very bottom of my lungs.  Stretching slowly and spreading out into the edges of me.  Sometimes my Inside-Me-ness shrivels under the demands, small but incessant.  It pulls back from the edges of my skin and steadily shrinking away from the chaos, the busy, the juggling of everything and everyone.  Until my Inside-Me-ness finds itself occupying very little of Actual Me, who is now filled to the brim with Everyone-Else-Who-Needs-Me and I start to feel a little sad, a little empty.  And I run away, to be sad and empty for a bit.  And to let my Inside-Me-ness unfurl itself back into the real estate it was made for.

Wednesday 7 October 2015

Gown (Judges 6:12)

Mm-hm, I nod so Christianly as I read the words I am used to hearing.  They sound nice, encouraging even.  Maybe I should write them on the bathroom mirror or put them in my pocket for the day.  And then I hang the beautiful gown of truth back up in my closet and walk away in my stained and grubby sweats.  His words are truth, but sometimes it's just easier this way.  I know what these chains feel like.  That freedom, that power, that unrestrained love?  People might notice that.  A gown amidst the casual, even filthy clothes of those around me?  What might He make of me if I truly believed?

Tuesday 29 September 2015

Appear (Judges 6:11-12)

Papa, I don't want to miss You.  Keep my heart in tune with Your melodies and my feet in step with Your spirit as You and I move throughout this day.  As You hover just on the other side of my ordinary life, use every sight, sound, smell, sensation and interaction to tweak my heart, reminding it evermore to recognize You through the thin veil that separates us.  Even as You sit under my oak tree, I just don't want to walk by without noticing You.  I don't even desire the flashy, but don't let me get caught in the flesh either.  Can we just plan to be present to each other today?  Thank you for being the one who is present and on the brink of appearing at every moment.  Papa, open my eyes.  

Wednesday 23 September 2015

Grace

The problem with Grace is that she isn't here.  Which is more of a problem for us than it is for her.  Because in her not-being-here she is so painfully present.  She is in the absence and the silence.  In the should-have-beens and would-have-beens.  In the row of heads around the table and the almost perfect family photo.  She doesn't run or walk or play among us, her footsteps frustratingly elusive as milestones go ambling by.  She doesn't speak or sing or tell stories, but her voice is the one we almost hear, heads spinning around before we remember that the problem with Grace is that she isn't here.

Friday 18 September 2015

Shaggy Headed Reader (Acts 7:2 & 7:33)

Sometimes, no mosttimes, this house and our days feel so ordinary.  One morning looks much like the next and it is fine but hard to feel much excitement.  

But today my heart bursts with thanks and pride and joy and awe as I watch this boy that is first His before he is mine.  He gathers all three littles around his shaggy head, asking which of the cartoon character chairs they prefer.  He confirms that they can all see the pictures before beginning to read his rendition of the story.  When one of them points out that he is using the wrong word, he gently explains that he doesn't actually know how to read and he's doing his best and that's okay too.  I swear he's older than five today.


Thank you, Papa, thank you for the gift that is Niko.  Thank you that every so often this very ordinary place becomes holy ground and I can sense your glory so much closer than I would have thought in my self-absorbed distraction only moments before.  You are the God with a years-long habit of appearing in glory and making holy that which, by all accounts, is the most ordinary of ordinaries.

Tuesday 15 September 2015

Sinister

Papa,
My times of refreshing come from Your presence and I can smell the fragrance of Your goodness this morning.  It rustles through the branches that frame the sky outside my window.  It echoes into the depths where my selfishness tries to subtly drown it out.  This crack, Lord, sheds some light on what is down below the surface.  Because it is much easier to keep the surface neat and clean, prim and proper, than it is to keep the cavernous depths free of cobwebs and nasty growths.  Too often and too easily I happily forget that.  I am not what I want to be.  Please forgive me.  What is revealed today is more sinister than I would care to admit.  Yet I don't want to cover it back up.  Grow Your grace in me, in those deeply ugly places.

Tuesday 8 September 2015

Voice (John 20:16)

Everything is moving
and loud and busy.
Can You be the One
to slow it down
or hold my hand
or whisper in my ear?
Just steady me
even if you can't ready me.
Catch my attention
with Your beauty
or Your grace
or Your love
or Your voice.
Say my name
and I will know
it is You.

Friday 4 September 2015

Behold the Man (John 19:5)

Behold the man, the desperate judge pleads, and my eyes widen as I reread the story.  Divinity humbled, drastically.  Pain heaped on embarrassment heaped on chosen meekness.  I am torn between skimming quickly to get this misery over with and carefully cupping my hands to catch the love pouring out alongside the blood and water.  Behold this God-man.  Behold Him then, behold Him now.  Slow down and look, take Him in.  Behold.

Thursday 3 September 2015

Truth (John 18:37)

My side of the story is filled with hurt and anger.  Come to think of it, so is hers.  But despite the similarities, our sides are decidedly incompatible, tensions rising when we guardedly pass each other by.  Honesty might get us closer, but honesty still relies on our perceptions.

The story of next-door is still messier, with more sides than there are people involved.  In the difficulty of telling who is right, my heart breaks for each again.  So much is at stake with no clear right path through the pain.

This is why I came into the world, Jesus says, for the cause of truth.  And my first reaction is to say with Pilate, What truth?

But it's been too many days of adoring this One my Heart Loves.  Too many hours invested in speaking, singing, whispering, humming praises back to Him.  The One I say I Love challenges me over and over as I read words I have read before, hearing words I have never heard before.

So what of this truth?  Papa, I am listening.

Wednesday 2 September 2015

Unraveling as We Go (John 14:3, 16:12, 17:20)

The finite years of Jesus life wrap up neatly in my children's Bible.  Birth, life, miracles, death, resurrection, done.  But His words take on a pulsing echo in my heart and in my day as the story suddenly stretches like bubblegum into this century.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again, and receive you unto myself; that where I am, there ye may be also.

I have yet many things to say unto you.

Neither pray I for my disciples alone, but for them also which shall believe on me through their word.

The loose ends I thought were were tied up when I turned the last page are unraveling in the best of ways.  They sound like they are spinning and swirling in the wind, taking on a life outside of themselves as He fills and infuses new parts of new hearts with new truths.

The best part of it not being over is that the story continues in me.  Oh, Papa, you are alive and dynamic and I don't want to miss a page in this beautiful story.

Friday 28 August 2015

Pursuit (John 14:18, 15:9, 15:15-16, 15:19)

It pounds its two syllables in time with my heart.  Great-er...Great-er...Great-er.  He loves me with the unconditional, extravagant, heart-wrenching love of a Father.  Greater than I can know or understand or, least of all, earn.  He calls me His friend and the honour and privilege of being valued in that symbiotic relationship is not lost on me.  He chooses me out of the world and for His purposes.  This love that is greater than I have ever known, this love changes me.  He pursues me and I become giddy.  My value more valuable, my worth more worthy, my heart more happy.  Not only is He greater in my eyes, but so am I.  His whispers of delight become proclamations I cannot ignore.  I will come to you, He says.  I love you.  I offer you friendship.  I choose you.

He is wooing me with His pursuit.  And I am worth it to Him.

Wednesday 26 August 2015

Devotions done, prayer items listed, boxes checked.  Or not.  "Pray without ceasing," He says, and I wonder.
What if I thanked Him - out loud - in the moment I saw the rays catch the morning dew on the grass I hurry past, keys jangling?
What if I courageously prayed that big prayer, trusting His bold promises in my messy life that seems incongruent with His truth?

Effortlessly, my mind separates the spheres of my day.  I leave my time-with-God circle, stepping into work or family or me.  But "I draw you unto Myself," He says, and I wonder. 
What if I left my open Bible right there beside my computer, kitchen sink, or couch spot and thanked Him for today's truth over and over all day?
What it I looked to Him from every new and old place of weakness and believed Him to be my strength?

Quietly and privately, I go about my faith, knowing He desires a close, personal relationship with me.  Which He does, and yet "where two are three are gathered in My name," He says, "there I am in the midst of them" and I wonder.
What if I let someone see into this dark corner, let them pray with me from my place of weakness, doubt, and sin?
What if I courageously went beyond the easy phrase "I'll be praying for you" to take a hand and pray right there together?

Sunday 23 August 2015

Love to the End (John 13:1)

Papa, Your words crash likes waves.

I love you.

I love you.

I delight you.

I rejoice over you.

Over and over and I stand here on the shore.  Your ocean of love so vast, so captivating.  I admire it, gaze at its horizon, breathe in its salty goodness.  I revel in its mist on my face, all the while unsure of what it could be like to step in.  Step in and let the tide of Your unfailing love pull me out into the vastness  Draw me unto You.  Draw me into Your deep love.

Friday 21 August 2015

Draw Me Back (John 12: 32)

Don't let this day be all about me.  Lord, draw me unto You.  Don't let my frantic hustle and bustle drown out Your daily graces.  Lord, draw me unto You.  Don't let the ups and downs of the boys drag me into that ugly cycle.  Lord, draw me unto You.

May each joy point me back to its Source.  Lord, draw me unto You.  May each challenge point me to the One who helps.  Lord, draw me unto You.  May each slow breath give me pause to remember.  Lord, draw me unto You.

Call me back, Papa.  Pursue me and woo me and whisper to me who I am in You.  Gently and lovingly draw me back unto You today.

Wednesday 19 August 2015

Emerson*4

The sound of Lego being moved around on the table in the ever-ongoing hunt for just the right piece is my lullaby.  Feelings of maybe-I-shoud-start-thinking-about-supper almost bring me back to consciousness, but a long day and just the right amount of sunshine make me burrow deeper into my corner of the couch and what just might be my moment to drift off.  The rare and treasured times when all three kids are playing flawlessly together make my heart swell, even as my eyelids are too heavy to open and take it all in.

Still on duty, even as I doze, I slowly come to with the soft words of the littlest one bubbling to the surface.  Groggy, I don't react instantaneously and Emerson steps in.  "Lachie, Mommy is asleep.  You have to pee otet?"  [Otet = toilet in his little brother's 2-year-old speak]  Emerson's voice takes on the exaggerated gentle cadence of an older one knowing that he is helping a little one and I breathe deeply, halfway between sleep and rapt attention on the scene I am picturing through still-closed eyelids.

"Come with me, Lachie," he urges and takes his brother's hand, leading him from his Lego rocketship creation towards the bathroom.  "Come pee otet."

The footsteps have gotten quieter now that they have reached the carpet in the hallway, but I hear that stool move across the bathroom floor.  Narrating as he goes, Emerson informs his brother of each step of the process, inadvertently warming my drowsy and delighted soul.  Using Lachlan's language, he helps him take his pants and "unders" [underwear] off and boosts him up to the toilet.  Ever so kindly he tells him good job when he pees and encourages him to get off the otet by himself.

By now Lachlan is giggling that his brother is doing this all with him and is happy to oblige as they work together to get the unders and pants back on - pausing in between as Emerson asks once the underwear is up: "Does your penis hurt?  No?  Okay, then it's on right."  That one is almost too much for me to continue the charade of sleep, as I make mental notes of the checklist Emerson presumably uses for himself as well.

A moment later they are back to join Niko at the Lego table beside me and the creative building continues.  Only now I am too giddy to go back to sleep.

Here are some pictures of this newly 4-year-old boy whose goofiness, gentleness, independence, and empathy we cherish in equal measure: https://www.flickr.com/photos/41705228@N08/albums/72157657488999075

Thursday 13 August 2015

Would you Wish Away Autism?

I have a friend with severe autism. We've been friends for 14 years (she is now 23). I have learned so much from Lindsay. She has opened my eyes to truths I would never otherwise have seen, broadened my understanding of the world around me, challenged my perceptions, exposed my assumptions, and deepened my capacity for love and friendship. The reflection and changes Lindsay has inspired in my heart manifested themselves in many ways, one of which has been a passion for working with people who have autism. Many of these other people have also influenced my understanding of autism, but none as profoundly as Lindsay.

Lindsay's cognitive skills compare to a neurotypical 5-year-old and her verbal skills compare to a neurotypical 3-year-old.  One of her perseverations is a fixation on Barney (the purple dinosaur). I recall an episode that included a young girl with a disability - I think she may have been hearing impaired. The storyline centered on this girl's struggle to fit in with the rest of the kids. Lindsay's reaction was shocking and saddening as she covered herself up with a blanket and just listened to the dialogue and cried and cried. She rewound and replayed sections over and over as she rocked beneath the blanket sobbing. She wouldn't talk to me or allow me to comfort her.

Lindsay does not have the emotional, cognitive, or verbal skills to talk about that experience, but it seemed very obvious to me that she resonated with that feeling of not fitting in, of not being like everybody else. Whether that means she has tried to wish her autism away or would try if she understood enough to try, I don't know. But there have certainly been times when autism caused her great great sorrow.

As someone who does not have autism, I know what it is like to be neurotypical and I can see what struggles someone who is not neurotypical has that I do not have. As someone who does not have autism, I do not know what that is like or whether you might look at my life and be saddened at the struggles I have that you do not. The idealist in me would like to say that the joys and struggles of each of our lives balance each other out. And I have seen plenty of joy in the lives of those with autism around me. But the moments I have seen kids with severe autism (especially those who are nonverbal) look trapped behind their own eyes against their will? Those moments make me wonder.

Have I and many others benefitted in our worldview, experience, and life because Lindsay has autism? Heck yes, we have. Would I wish autism away or cure it? When I see Lindsay sobbing alone under the blanket, heck yes, I would.

Boldly (John 7:26)

I knock on her door with my elbow as my hands are full of baby paraphernalia.  Her grandson is coming to visit for a few days and she is so excited.  But as she gets off the couch to help me bring in the toys to borrow, I see her posture and with only a fraction of a second of hesitation she is crying in my arms.  Tears uncontrollable, words unintelligible, pain undeniable, questions unanswerable, decisions unavoidable, life unbearable.

And Your incongruent truth marches into my line of vision as my eyes take in Your word.  He speaks boldly it says, claiming what I cannot see.  On my front steps, the flow of tears more like a trickle now, the story comes out in fragments overlapping.  She cries out in desperation, and I can't help but wonder along with her, why don't You answer?  Why don't You show her the way?  Why don't You heal or solve problems or give solutions?

He speaks boldly, it says in the left-hand column and I underline the words in orange.

She wants so badly for You to speak audibly.  To speak knowingly and helpfully to their needs.  To speak comfortingly and personally to her crushed spirit.

I want it too.

But You speak boldly.  You speak truths that don't look true from here.  That don't feel true right now.  And my first instinct is to doubt, or make excuses, or pray caveats to let You off the hook.

But You speak boldly and eliminate the option of playing it safe.  So the risk is high, yet all of my soul wants to try.

You speak boldly and I will choose to believe You are who You say You are, even in circumstances that beg to differ.  You speak boldly and I will praise You for who You say You are, trusting that one day here or There.

You speak boldly.  May my words reflect that.

Tuesday 21 July 2015

Light of Thy Countenance (Psalm 4:6)

Bathed in warmth and awash in the comfortable glow of Your face, this is the place I want to dwell.  Pen in hand and heart in silence, it is well and it is glory.  Cast Your light on me and on my hurried, harried steps, that I may dwell despite the busied but blessed moments.

Thursday 16 July 2015

Arise to Judge (Psalm 7)

With pen in his hand and tune in his ear, he writes unguardedly, the song his soul sings to its Maker that night.  The song that resembles nothing my soul has ever dreamed of singing.  Arise, O Lord, to judgement.  Awake, O Lord, and judge me according to my righteousness.  

Arise, O Lord, and judge me?  Judge me according to my righteousness?  Or lack thereof, I should say.  For, every day, I do what I do not want to do and I do not do what I want to do.  More often than not, I am who I do not want to be and I am not who I want to be.

David, saved and sainted, but sinner nonetheless, how is this his cry, his song?  What did he know that I do not?  What had he seen of his Lord that I have not seen of mine?

To pray that my Lord would arise to judge me, what would that take?  The gentle assurance that my Father's love is limitless?  The faithful assurance that His grace is enough?  The joyful sound of His delight-song over me?

Could it be that David somehow knew the depths of the divine love?  Did he feel the Closeness I long for?  Did he behold the Face I seek?  Did he dwell in that perfect Presence?

Lord, come judge me is a prayer I cannot imagine praying.  But oh to know the love of a Father so delighted in me that judgement brought no fear or shame.  Oh to know and rely on the depths of that love day to day.

Wednesday 15 July 2015

Likeness (Psalm 17:15)

As for me, I will behold thy face in righteousness
Over and over the veil between the majestic and the mundane thins in moments poignant or picturesque and I behold Your face, Your righteous and glorious face.  A glimpse this morning, a little last week, bit and pieces over the months and years form a heavenly Papa that my heart loves.  Every day He speaks a clearer I delight in you.  Every day that I see His love for me, I feel even less deserving.  I behold His face and I don't want to behold mine.
But one day.
One day I shall be satisfied.
I shall see the fullness of Your glory, I shall join the fullness of Your glory.
I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.
Lord, transform me into that likeness I am beholding.

Tuesday 23 June 2015

You're Right

He answers my mumbled "I can't" with a "You're right" and I stop in my tracks.

I'm right?

"Yes," He whispers holding my overwhelmed gaze in His loving eyes.  "You can't because otherwise it would mean nothing that I can."

Not quite sure He understands, I try to assert my case with a desperate "I'm not enough."  I show Him my laundry list: not strong enough, not patient enough, not wise enough, not creative enough, not able enough, not caring enough, not together enough.

Gentler still, He breathes the words right into the middle of me, where my fear and self-doubt live.  "You're right, you're not.  You're not enough because otherwise it would mean nothing that I am."

Deliverer (Psalm 34:4)

Papa, I cannot imagine being set free from my fear.  I can read the words, repeat the promises, and sing the songs, but I don't know how to believe that you are my Deliverer.

Monday 22 June 2015

My Morning (Psalm 30:5 & Psalm 34:5)

The rhythm of the rain outside my window is my alarm clock this morning.  In my stupor it sounds like clapping and I am oddly relieved.  The gray skies are clapping their sarcastic applause.  Perfect, I agree.  A miserable soggy day is in order for me, a failure.

It's the morning after the night that ended with silence, my mess uglier than I want to put into words.  Uglier than I want to put into words in front of him.  And he knows it.  He prods gently with such care but I shut him out.  It's too much and I'm too tired, I tell myself.  I'm fine, really, I tell him.  But how many times in ten years have I avoided his eyes?

And that night came on the heels of another, where I collapsed in a heap knowing I had just barely made it through another day.  A day of hearing my floundering in the sounds of every whining, complaining heap of child on the floor.  Of watching my defeat in hitting hands and kicking feet.  Of seeing my not-enough in the sounds of shutting down, shutting out, and shutting doors.   It's all I can do not to shut my eyes and shut my heart.

It's the morning after and the morning after the morning after.  And sometimes it doesn't look any better than the night before.  Or the night before.  Or the one before.

He says joy comes in the morning.  He whispers it this time.  Whispers it to my morning that is begging for a reason to rebel.  My morning that balks at Him, daring Him to defy Himself.

Except that it isn't.

At least not entirely.

Underneath its disheveled hair and disheartened spirits, my morning longs to taste and see that He is good and true and loving and here.  My morning, my afternoon, my evening, and my night.  All of me wants to know all of Him.

All of me wants to know this God who hears me when I cry.  Who is near when I am broken-hearted.  Who redeems me when I am desolate.  Who made my heart such that He can strengthen it.  Who makes me radiant when I am ashamed.

This God who is teaching me day by day and hour by hour that I am weak, fallible, and inadequate on purpose.  By His very design I am made to be whole only in Him.  By His very design I am made to experience fullness in my dependence on Him.

If my weakness is not only my weakness but also His strength, is it even my weakness at all?  How great is my God!

Thursday 11 June 2015

Pip

I feel you
though your hair escapes my touch
I see you
only in the periphery
vanishing when I try to focus
You live in my dreams of night and day
my moments of distraction
my deep hopeful corners
my reflexes and instincts

But you don't live at the table for supper
in the backseat of the van
or amongst the cars that drive across the carpet

Yet

Tuesday 9 June 2015

Missing my marriage (4)

Because I never want to fall asleep without his body cradling mine.

In an effort to love him outwardly as I do inwardly:
Today I will kiss him slowly.
Tomorrow I will remind him of what a great dad he is.  And I will kiss him slowly.
This week I will encourage him to have time for himself.  And I will kiss him slowly.  

Friday 5 June 2015

Mire (Psalm 42)

Tears wrung out from this dry and thirsty soul.  Memories of the less mundane breed longing for more of His greatness.

While soul sulks, truth speaks still.  Pages crisp lined with words ancient.  He is faithful.

The mire of my everyday coexists with the faithfulness of my God.  In a fleeting moment of beholding Him, the barrier begins to crumble and the two seep into each other.  My messy and my God, like oil and water, seemingly incompatible.  Until I behold Him a little more.  And then a little more.

Two are steadily but oh-so-slowly becoming one and the ground is fertile with possibilities.  Hope sprouts, joy germinates, peace pokes a hesitant tendril from mucky mire.

Tuesday 2 June 2015

Voice (Psalm 95:7)

My first reaction to the words speaks to the condition of my fragile heart.  Today, if you will hear His voice.  Oh Lord, You are right.  So often I forget to listen and I miss Your whispers, Your truths, Your delight, Your glory.  I am sorry.  I want to hear, I really want to hear.  Today I will try, Lord.  I hope.  But it's so hard, when everything around me speaks so loudly.  It's so hard to tune in to Your voice.  I am sorry that I disappoint You.  And so sorry for what I miss out on.

I say the words back to Him, adoring Him for who He is.  Thank you for being the God who lets me choose to hear His voice.  Wait a minute.  If I climb up out of the guilt, there might be more to this.  You are the God who makes hearing His voice an option for me.  You created me, I am one of Your projects.  You who are great.  Whose hands hold the depths of the earth.  Whose strength is higher than the hills.  Whose magnitude surpasses the seas.  Whose hands moulded dry land.

You are the God who makes hearing His voice an option for me.  You, in all Your greatness, have formed me.  And invited me into relationship.  Shaped my heart and breathed life, life that is separate from Your greatness, yet with the capacity to hear the voice of its Maker.

Thank you for being that God.  My God who made me able to hear His voice.  Made hearing Your voice an option for me.

I will say Your truths back to You.  Sing them until they change my heart of flesh.  Hide them in my heart until those words, that voice are my first instinct to hear.  How could I long to hear anything else?

Sunday 31 May 2015

Whole (Psalm 138:1)

The way I get ready for a weekend at the lake drives Bernie crazy.  And truthfully, it's not very relaxing for me either.  

I start packing the boys' bags with the requisite number of shirts, shorts, and underwear.  Then on my way to the back door to get their runners and hats, I notice the vitamin bottles still on the counter from breakfast.  Oh yeah, we should bring vitamins for the weekend.  I fill up a container with vitamins, scoop up the runners and hats, and head back to the bedroom to finish the kids' bags.  But if I'm going to pack the vitamins, I may as well get the tylenol, eye/ear drops, and thermometer.  Opening the closet door and collecting those just-in-case things, I notice the sunscreen and mosquito spray.  But that doesn't fit in their bags so I take it to our bedroom to add to our bags, when I realize I haven't gotten our bags out yet.  On the way down the hallway to get our them I trip over a dinosaur and spend a few minutes doing a lap around the house picking up animals.  As I retrieve a Tyrannosaurus from under the table, I see a crusted milk puddle and the offending sippy cup.  I toss the dinosaurs, horses, and pig in the animal bucket and head to the kitchen for the mop.  Sliding the dining room table to the slide, I clean up the floor.  Lachlan comes barreling full speed at me to rescue him from Emerson's antics and wipes out on the newly cleaned floor.  I lift him to my hip, give him a kiss, and carry him down the stairs to get our packs for the lake.  While I'm taking them off the hook in the laundry room the dryer beeps.  Lachlan is ready to go play, so I put him down, pile our bags on top of the laundry, and carry everything back towards the stairs, stopping for a minute outside the storage room to think about whether there is anything else I can bring up while I am here.  All I can think of is the cooler, which is too big for this load, so up I go.  I dump the contents of the laundry basket onto our bed and start sorting.  Suddenly a yelling match has broken out in the boys' bedroom.  I find teary faces and furious eyes in a stand-off over which toys they can pack into their bags for the lake.  To make room for the toys, they have removed their clothing from their bags.  I also notice that their beds are not made.  Smoothing quilts and soothing wounds, I undo the damage to feelings and packing progress.  One of them yanks a pair of pajamas out of my hands, saying I packed the wrong one.  The right pair is missing, so back I go to sort more laundry until it turns up.  The phone rings and a friend is coming to borrow two lifejackets, whilst Lachlan has made his way back upstairs driving a car through the pile of laundry.  The right pair of pajamas in hand, I squeeze past the fort being built in the hallway and repack the kids' bags.  Except stuffies which need to go in after their naps and the movies, which I need to remind them to go choose - later, when they aren't getting along and need a distraction.  Speaking of distraction, a board game might be nice for the cottage.  I head downstairs to choose one, thinking that I'll grab the beach towels while I am down there too.  Trouble seems like a good game, but halfway there I remember that we're missing two pieces.  Sorry will do.  I find it and can't remember what else I was going to get down here.  Oh, the cooler.  Right.  I bring them both upstairs, even grabbing the dried swimtrunks on the way up the stairs where they hung damp on the railing last night.  On the top step, I remember it was the towels I was going to grab from the basement...

With this Family-Circus-esque chain of events, I sigh and recognize again that very little of me moves in a straight line.  I want to sing with the Psalmist "I will praise you with my whole heart," but my heart is as fragmented and distracted as ever.  How do I praise with my whole fickle heart?  How do I love with my whole multi-tasking heart?  How do I get my whole heart to slow down be all in one place at the same time?

Wednesday 27 May 2015

Morning Dawns

When it starts too early, my eyes are clouded already - or still.  Blinded to all but my needs and desires and selfishness.  When it starts with tears, my pulse quickens, already out of sync with Yours.  That is not the day I want.  Yesterday is not the day I want.  Papa, grab my hand and slow me down.  Stroke my cheek and lift my face.  Whisper Your marvellous lovingkindess gently into my flippant, heartless corners.  That I and they may know You today.

Tuesday 26 May 2015

Trust & Blessing

Psalm 2:12  Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.

But sometimes stakes are too high.  Trusting Him a luxury I can’t afford.  This one thing I must hang on to.  I can do it myself.  I can do it my way.  With the increasing height of the stakes, so the pressure inside builds exponentially.  Reflecting and reassessing, I try and try again - until I cry and cry again.  Tears frustrated at failure.  Tears recognizing weakness.  Tears unwilling to trust, to yield, to surrender.  And then I see His reflection in the pool of my own weakness and He speaks words that I want so hard to believe.  

Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.  

I try to allow my heart to feel those words, try to persuade it to believe.  But in difficult I don’t feel blessed.  In messy, complicated, hurt, nobody would call me blessed.  My critical eye has seen, my critical heart beheld.  Those who put their trust in Him, are not all healed.  Troubles don’t instantaneously evaporate.  Bumps in the road of life don’t become miraculously smooth.  Not always.  He doesn’t follow formula.

Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.

I try to allow my heart to feel those words, try to persuade it to believe.  Maybe, just maybe what I am seeing with my eyes, hearing with my ears, feeling with my heart is not the full picture.  Could my view be subject to reframing?  Could it be that His ways are really that much higher than mine?  Maybe blessing is not as narrow as I imagine, not as shallow as I assume.  

Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.  

I try to allow my heart to feel those words, try to persuade it to believe that my God is the one who responds to my trust with blessing.  That my God moves in response to me.  What kind of God moves in response to me?  The kind of God who lavishes on me, who revives me, who accepts my meditation as sweetness, who sets me on high, who delights in me.  I have a God who moves in response to me and it begins to bubble over in my soul.  Thank you, Papa.  Thank you, Lord.  Thank You that the moment I set my love upon You, You respond to me.  

Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.

I allow my heart to feel His words, choose to believe their truth.  For to believe that He responds to my trust with blessing offers freedom.  Freedom from worry, guilt, fear, and the pressure of having to get it all right.  From the burden of forcing my messes into all the goodness I crave.  To believe that He responds to my trust with blessing frees me.  It frees me to live, trusting that He is more than enough for me and for those around me.  It frees me for the fullness of love, joy, peace, courage, faith.  It frees me to rest, to grow, to dream, to question, to leap.  To believe that He responds to my trust with blessing reframes my day to day, my moment by moment through His eyes and for His purposes.

Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.

Can you try to allow your heart to feel His words, try to persuade it to believe?  Where is He calling you to trust?  What would it mean for you to trust?  What is holding you back?  Who is calling you forward?  Which words are you hearing louder?  Can you try to allow your heart to feel His words, try to persuade it to believe?

Wednesday 20 May 2015

Reframing

Lights dimmed, torches burned, and fog rolled over the castle wall, flowing across the stage and down into the orchestra pit where the ominous tone was being set by brass, strings, and percussion.  The old lady, who really wasn't, cast her spell on the prince and away the story went.  A tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme.  

An angry, threatening beast, an arrogant, intimidating hunter, and growling, snarling wolves had my 50-pound son on my lap within seconds.  Though we had paid for two seats, it looked like we'd be cozying up together.  I wrapped my arms around him and we watched, barely getting to know characters before they were locked away in a dark dungeon, attacked by menacing wolves, or at the mercy of a hideous and turbulent beast.  So much was unexpected, so much was too much.  

My little boy, the big one who can ride his bike around Bird’s Hill Park, clean the bathroom, add two-digit numbers, and use the word ‘tepid’ correctly, huddled against me.  Heart racing, body tense, overwhelmed, too scared to look and too scared to look away.

I could have stood up and carried him out.  We would have had to squeeze awkwardly past seven people to get to the aisle and then climb the stairs in the dark.  We would have lost the $40 we spent on tickets.  But that isn’t why we didn’t leave.  We stayed because I knew he could make it through and because I knew it could be worth it for him.  

And so as the intensity of music and scenes built, I saw things as my son saw them, even as I softly spoke the truths I knew.  Character after character, song after song, dialogue after dialogue, I whispered into his ear, giving context, simplifying motives, making feelings relatable and actions understandable.  My words reframing what he was living.  Bit by bit his body relaxed as he accepted that what he was seeing on the stage was not the whole story it was just a story.  He could allow himself to be drawn in, experiencing fear and unknown with the characters, or he could allow himself to believe my reframing.  To trust that maybe, just maybe what he was seeing with his eyes, hearing with his ears, and feeling with his heart was not the full picture.  To trust that I knew things he could not know.  

Forty-five minutes and numerous scenes later, he slowly started to learn the truth of the words I was pouring from my heart into his.  The act of trusting when truth seemed to contradict reality wasn’t intuitive at first.  But his instincts had urged him straight into the lap of someone who could speak truth and so he practiced listening to the voice until, almost without warning, he clung to trust and crawled back over to his own seat again.  Still holding hands, confidence rooted in someone who could reframe scary and unknown and overwhelming and dangerous.  

It’s not hard to draw a parallel from this story.  Put an uppercase S on Someone and picture yourself curled up on the lap of your heavenly Papa.  The One whose thoughts are higher than your thoughts.  The One whose ways are higher than your ways.  The One who is faithful and worthy of trust.  The One who can reframe what you are seeing and hearing and living, if only you will sit close enough to allow Him to whisper into your ear.  

Can you let Him whisper now?  Praise Him for being the One in whom you can trust, simply because of who He is.  And let Him show you where you can trust Him more.  

(If there is anyone who actually reads, I'd welcome a response.  This is a devotional I am preparing for this weekend.)

Monday 4 May 2015

Trust (Psalm 2:12)

Words are halting; my fingers slow to type.  Stakes are so high and I am never sure.  Never sure that my tired sighs won't rob him of self-worth, that an unchecked eye-roll won't make him question the depth of my love, or that another conversation about his behaviour won't make him second-guess his intrinsic value.  Could it be that a wayward word might derail his capacity for intimacy, a mistaken comparison might give way to self-doubt, or an overheard exasperation might set the course for bitterness?  What if my own blindness means he fails to lift his eyes to the One who could bring beauty from these ashes?

With the increasing height of the stakes, so the pressure inside builds exponentially.  Reflecting and reassessing, I try and try again - until I cry and cry again.  And then I see Your reflection in the pool of my own weakness and You speak words that I want so hard to believe.  Blessed are all those who put their trust in Him.  I try to allow my heart to feel those words, try to persuade it to believe.  For to believe that You respond to my trust with blessing frees me.  It frees me from worry and obsession and the pressure of having to get it all right.  It frees me from the burden of forcing him into all the goodness crave for him.  It frees me to love, trusting that You are more than enough for him.  

Father in heaven, I want to trust You to parent both me and my child.  You respond to my trust with blessing.  Lord, I believe; help my unbelief!

Friday 1 May 2015

Limitless Mercy (Psalm 103:11)

May the limitlessness of the heavens and Your mercy be the melody of my praise.
May it overwhelm my heart and be the filter of my gaze.

Friday 24 April 2015

My Flesh Longs (Psalm 63:1)

My flesh longs for a buzzing joy.  For the cheerful chaos that is many littles, without the messes and cries and squabbles and disobedience and needs, oh the needs.  It longs for a peaceful busy, a happy hive of bustling without all the tussling.  My flesh yearns for this impossibility.  And what will never be points me to Who Will Always Be.  And He teaches the middle of my flesh to long for him and the fleeting ease I search for gives way to beauty from these humbling, whining, exhausting ashes.

Wednesday 22 April 2015

God Who Responds (Psalm 91:14)

He calls me from the other room, stuck at the top of the bunk bed again.  "Dow, Mama.  DOW."  His voice is insistent, right from the get-go, as if he knows that I might well make him wait.  Even after years, or maybe because it's been years, I just want to wash one more dish, chop one more veggie, mop one more corner, finish one more page before I put down what is me and respond to what is him.

But my God moves in response to me.  What kind of God gives me, restores me, delivers me, revives me, delights in me, sets me on high?  What kind of God accepts my meditation as sweetness, my prayers as incense?  Thank you God that the moment I set my love upon You, dirty dishes clatter in divine sink and you run to me, soapy hands outstretched and dripping still.

Tuesday 21 April 2015

Sweet (Psalm 104:34)

My thoughts turn to prayers as I roll over and let awareness of the day take over.  My frustrations turn to pleas as I massage my scalp, hot water loosening muscles and soul.  My joy turns to thanks as I gaze out the window, taking in the thin white blanket-reminder of how close we are.  My complaints turn to humility as I recognize my place, my weakness, my need, my reflection, the grace extended to me.  Moment by moment my world points my heart, my thoughts, my attitudes into the ongoing song of my Saviour.  And my meditation is sweet to my God.

Monday 20 April 2015

Waves (Psalm 107:23-32)

To see the great works of the Lord, to live His wonders deep
Is to ride the raging waves, and know my soul He'll keep.

Wednesday 15 April 2015

Sweet Words (Psalm 119:103)

Had the ringing phone made my heart beat faster in anger or had looking at the caller ID made my mood plummet, I might have been ready for what was coming.  But it didn't and I wasn't.  Her words were accusatory and cutting.  Their affect entirely out of place and out of the blue.  My guard went up as quickly as my self-confidence went down.  The giver of deflating words left a wake of simmering anger, discarded hope, and stolen assurance.

But how sweet are Your words.  How gentle and tender and loving and pure and sweet.  Your words speak life to my soul and joy to my heart.  Revive me again.  Bring me up again from the place the world has carelessly tossed me.  Fill my mind with the songs of rejoicing You sing over me.  That I may delight in You, remain in You, behold You, know You, adore You.  And find me in You, Giver of Sweet Words.

Friday 10 April 2015

My Little Dadoo

The indignation you feel when you are the only one not allowed to ride your bike to the park is passionate and all-consuming and deeply rooted in your need to be acknowledged.  Vehemently refusing to be baby, tag-along, or little, your cries of "dadoo" (me too) or "ta-da-da" (ta-da) speak volumes of your need to be seen, to be valued, to be loved.

And see you we do.  You look back at me as you climb the play structure steps, once-fluorescent sweater now caked with mud and once-gummy grin now lined with chiclet-teeth.  I see you wearing the skills and independence of two years proudly, venturing out with fragile confidence.

And value you we do.  You drag baskets of clean and sorted laundry to bedrooms in which they belong, grunting as you go.  As I pick up the trail of socks you leave behind, I marvel at what I am learning of you, even as you are learning it of yourself.  I value your independence and willingness to help, your sense of order and rightness, your quick-thinking and sense of humour, your love of books and of the outdoors.   

And love you we do.  You nearly doze off in the warm sun on a lunchtime drive home and my heart swells as I catch a glimpse in the rearview mirror.  My warm fuzzies bubble to the surface in the form of giggles - both mine and yours - as I try to rouse you, only to watch you now let your head lean farther to the side and pretend to sleep.  You can't quite pull it off as you sneak a peek to see how I will react, both of us trying hopelessly to maintain a straight face.  

Lachie, the One who made You delights in You, and we are so thrilled that we get to too.

Thursday 9 April 2015

Low (Psalm 116:6)

To Him who Saves me when I am Low,
I need You, oh I need You.  So many times I put on my blinders and put up my guard.  Within these walls I determine moods and spirits.  So many times I create good out of mediocre.  Silly out of frustrating.  Even growth out of difficulty.  But when the walls don't hold.  When the problems of those more stubborn, more lost, more entrenched seep in.  When the tumultuous relationships with those less joyful, less malleable, less likeable saturate my soul.  In those whens, my shoulders drop and my heart sags lows beneath the weight.  Anger and frustration shoot up like weeds in the fertile soil of gossip and self-righteousness.  I am burdened and I am low.
I need You, oh I need You.  God who saves me when I am low.  God who lifts me up.  God who has upheld me from birth.
Here I am, claiming Your praise from down low.

Tuesday 7 April 2015

Loaded with Benefits (Psalm 68:19)

To Him who Daily Loads us with Benefits,
Thank you.  Thank you for what You do for me.  And thank you even more for who You are to me.  I praise You for the days and the hours when I feel the glorious fullness of good things You have showered on me.  I praise You for the truth of Your promises when I am ignorantly blind to them.  You are not satisfied with ordinary blessings or mediocre love as You are the God of pouring, filling, overflowing abundance.  So, Lord, may my response be anything but ordinary and mediocre.  I want to thirst, long and ache after You.  I want to stand, rise, and soar in Your greatness.  I want to live in awareness and praise all the day long.  Lord, become greater in me.
Love, Me who is Daily Loaded with Your Benefits

Monday 6 April 2015

Broken (Psalm 51:8)

My focus is broken.  I am too easily distracted and too selfishly jaded.  I am flighty when it matters and fixated on matters irrelevant.  Songs of Him lost amidst the deafening hymns of the ho-hum.  I forget.  How often I forget.  My heart bounces here and there and my focus is broken and He is Healer, Fixer, Whole.  He remembers.  How often he remembers.  He heals, covers, and restores.  He makes glad.  He replaces my broken focus with joy.

Monday 30 March 2015

Lion (Psalm 29:4 and 34:11)

After we passed camels came their moment of choice.  Both kids had been adamant that they did not want to see the lions or tigers, but in that moment there was still hesitation.  Allure was almost enough to overcome fear, so we cautiously walked just enough around the corner to see them from a safe distance and then quickly retreated to follow the other path around - past wild horses, sea eagles and to mountain goats.  And that's when we heard him.  At first, it was almost like rumbling of a stomach, and I thought they might not even notice.  But seconds later it picked up volume and intensity a bit.  Lion was roaring.  I could just make out the outline of his body through chain-link of multiple enclosures between us.  He was horizontal on his perch, one paw elevating his head and chest a little.  Relaxed, in disposition.  This was probably his inside-voice.  Even as I steadied them with my arm around their shoulders, kids' nervousness was catching as I found my pulse speeding up.  Mesmerized by powerful voice, my heart knew allure and fear in equal proportion.

Captivate me, Lion of Judah.  

Sunday 29 March 2015

Four

"I have four," he said.
"Me too," I replied, feeling foolish the moment the words left my lips.
Because I don't, and yet Four lives always in the shadows on the edge of my daily chaos.  More real than I give it credit for.

Tuesday 24 March 2015

Selah (Psalm 119:50)

I can't I must I check I help I ask I try I pray I miss I text I remember I hurt I laugh I call I wonder I cry I want I should I know I don't

Selah.

I lift I bake I sweep I dress I clean I play I carry I prepare I tidy I soothe I mend I read I sing I build I sort I vacuum I dance I wipe I chase I love I don't

Selah.

I layer I tie I load I buckle I hurry I drive I walk I drop-off I pick-up I hug I wave I go I shop I move I don't

Selah.

I read I listen I watch I type I learn I check I reply I play I peruse I poke I relax I toggle I plan I reflect I don't

Selah.

Give me cause to pause amidst it all this day, my Lord.  You are the One whose word gives life and I am the one who needs to abide in that life.  May I find praising in the raising of littles.  May my roots grow deep in this house I keep.  May my soul alone be fed by You who bled.

Friday 20 March 2015

Another Wrinkle (Psalm 37:4)

Another one is hurting with wounds not quickly healed and relationships not easily repaired.  Another day of battles in a war we don't want to be fighting.  Another baby lost and another empty spot in the family Christmas photo.  Another diagnosis and another hurdle in the journey to freedom.  

Always another wrinkle in the unraveling fabric of my world.  I stretch my toes beneath it, cautiously enjoying my own comforts.  Blessings tucked on either side, soft snoring reassures.  My head rests on my pillow though my mind is anything but restful.  

He is many things this day, but He is not my delight because my delight is absent.  

Wednesday 18 March 2015

Wonders (Psalm 77:14)

You are the God who does wonders.  Psalm 77:14

Resisting the urge to tack anything on to this truth is harder than I thought.  You are the God who does wonders, now could you please do a wonder in him, the one who plagues quietly and interrupts loudly.  Or in her, the one who opens for a moment only to shut down and shut up and shut out.  Or in us, the ones wondering and waiting without the weight of wonder.  Or in them, who love to be difficult and are difficult to love.

Lord, I want to practice adoring You for the truth of who You are.  You are the God who does wonders.  One day my heart will be able to sing the words to You in praise that is about You and not me.  I want to tune my eyes and ears and heart and thanks to see the wonders You are doing, instead of pleading that You do the ones I think I want.  Lord, may I become less so that You may become greater.

Friday 13 March 2015

Searcher (Psalm 53:2)

Hands busied with scrubbing twenty-four cups of the muffin tin, eyes catch sight of my Bible on the window ledge and breath catches in my throat as I remember the One I am ashamed to have forgotten again.  Him.  God of the Bible, God of the universe.  God of my day, my weak and flighty heart longs to know more of You.  You are the One who searches for those who seek Him.  Crusted bit of cornbread muffin giving way from the pan, words of the Psalmist becoming mine.  You look down from heaven to see if there are any who seek You.  I read and pause and repeat, knowing there is truth, wondering if it will be my truth today.


Muffin tin clean, I move on to mixing bowls and barely start a thought.  If You are searching for those who seek You, then you aren't smugly keeping a tally of my wrongs.  You aren't orchestrating events good or terrible.  You aren't sitting back, leaving the ball in my court.  You are active, interested, invested.  The lost sheep, lost coin, lost son are not lost on me.  You are searcher.

Mixing bowls clatter as they are abandoned for buttons and zippers and rubber boots.  There is muddy terrain to be explored.  This moment is gone, but His words follow me down soggy sidewalks.  Dump trucks jounce over snow and through mud-caked grass in full spring mode.  Two little hands and four little feet pull the little blue wagon and He pulls me back in once more.  He is searcher and every search has an objective.  His is the faintest hint of heaven-turned face, heaven-stretched hands, heaven-cast eyes.  He searches for signs of a thirsty soul that will receive His Cascading Greater.  Lord, may it be me.

Sigh (Psalm 38:9)

Boot-print-shaped sighs trudge through living room 
before sanity strikes and traipses back the long way again
Mud-caked truck treads roll over sighing carpet fibres 
who see another day of moderately effective scrubbing 
Trail of drips and drops lead mockingly 
to near-flooded grey-brown soupy sink 
that sighs as it tries to drain
Where their trying makes things messier
Or my trying makes things messier
Bible in hand, diapers checked along the way
almost to the window spot when I am caught
And I sigh
And He sees

Wednesday 11 March 2015

Flashing cursor taunts me from blank page and I am humbled.  I have as little to say as everyone else, but our silence speaks volumes.  Is there are word for the disappointed and ashamed sadness that yearns to delight?

Monday 9 March 2015

Strengthen (Psalm 27:14)

In my ability to love
Lord, strengthen my heart
In my capacity for compassion
Lord, strengthen my heart
In my weakness of resolve
Lord, strengthen my heart
In my wandering whims
Lord, strengthen my heart
In my doubts and disasters
Lord, strengthen my heart
In my heav'n-turned glimpses
Lord, strengthen my heart
In my giddy thanksgiving
Lord, strengthen my heart
In Your grace and Your mercy
Lord, strengthen my heart

Friday 6 March 2015

Upheld (Psalm 71:6)

By You I have been upheld from birth and I don't even know any other way.  My heritage of faith led me up and over and through before I even knew there was another way.  David and Moses and Paul and Jesus are so engrained I couldn't take off these lenses if I tried.  Prayers spoken and prayers answered are what I know.  Doubts relinquished and burdens unloaded are how I get by.  Thanks spied and praises sung are how I thrive.  Blessings accepted and gifts regifted is my simple offering.  Knees bent and arms high is how I want to live.  By You I have been upheld from birth.  My praise shall be continually of You.  

Monday 2 March 2015

Beautify (Psalm 149:4)

You know who He doesn't beautify?  He doesn't beautify those who bite their tongues or silently seethe.  He doesn't beautify those who pay lip service to a trajectory their heart is not on.  He doesn't beautify those who are on guard and on edge.  He doesn't beautify those who are biding humble time so that their righteous anger is warranted.  He doesn't beautify the smug, self-centred, pious, hypocritical, superior, or sanctimonious.

You are the God who beautifies me in those precious moments when I am at the centre of the explosive torrent of Your love.  In its overwhelming I-cannot-breathe-it's-just-so-much way of making me see my place as the most upside-down Greater-Humble, beauty finds me, reminds me, and defines me.

Thursday 26 February 2015

New Song (Psalm 144:9)

bow strange yet familiar in my hand
fingers fumble across strings
eyes dart back and forth to soak it all in
tracing overgrown paths from symbol to song
all is new again, these melodies I've heard before
how is it that so much time has passed
foolishness says it won't be done
but nervousness quickly gives way
only a few tries before I hear the song arise
from my heart-well of gifts and graces
You draw a new song, O Lord

Wednesday 25 February 2015

Safe (Psalm 4:8)

My gregarious boy can hardly speak of anything else as he anticipates a weekend with cousins and, especially, a day at the waterslides.  He counts sleeps and I count calories, all the while knowing I can't shrink those love handles in one week.  His mind returns endlessly to the question of swim googles and will we get them on time for the trip, while mine is drawn back over and over to the sight of my belly as it bulges over my waistline.  He whispers excited questions about what we will do on the drive as I whisper embarrassing lies about my worthiness to don my bathing suit in confidence.  His joyful anticipation can be a little much, but my ongoing obsession tops childish preoccupation.

The thing is, when it comes down to it, I will put on the bathing suit, steel myself, and pretend I'm fine with what I see.  I will enjoy the slides, the kids, the fun, and avoid thinking about what others see when they look at me.  I might feed myself some lines about being beautiful, God-created, perfect-in-every-way, loved-the-way-I-am.

But I won't believe them.

Oh how I wish I could believe them.

I wish I was safe from my own judging eyes.

See, it's not the others, it's me I am not safe from.  Rationally, I know that in many ways I have worked hard to get where I am.  I know that my body's strength and endurance are greater than they have ever been.  I know that my body has housed and fed three children in a short span of time and bears the associated beauty marks and battle wounds.  And yet, I see the mistakes, the weaknesses, the failures.  I see the jiggle, recall the extra dessert, the skipped workout.

Father, thank You for being my safety.  I see more and more that you are my only true safety.  My friends are not perfectly reliable, my husband not faultlessly all-knowing, myself not purely gentle and kind.  Today I choose to lean in to You.  You see all and You define truth.  You see all and love without condition.  You see all and hold me in Your safety.  You see all and declare Your love for me as greater than.

Monday 23 February 2015

Incense (Psalm 141:2)

slow-cooker boasts of homemade apple juice
warming slowly on the counter
one squeezed orange and a sprinkling of cinnamon
the scent of winter warmth and cozy nights
the most tantalizing of promises
delicious delicacies and comfortable company
desperate whispers, mindless songs
inward cries, upward sighs
each adding to the fragrance of His throne-room
pleas and praises mingling
my prayers rise like steam
intoxicating
He breathes me in
the aroma of longing
and of belonging

Saturday 21 February 2015

Hope (Psalm 146:5)

Day after day and tough spot after tough spot, I cling to hopes that I know will make me happy.  I hope they all sleep in.  I hope they get along.  I hope I can get the house cleaned up.  I hope the weather warms up.  I hope he can control himself.  I hope this is a phase.  I hope nobody spills.  I hope they don't embarrass me.  My next level of happiness, peace, relaxation, and comfort hinges on my hope of the next thing.

Except if doesn't.  When my hopes go unrealized, my bitterness grows.  And when they are fulfilled, I still am not.

Because these hopes that consume are liars.  They promise things they cannot possibly come through on.  They don't deserve the name hope.  Wishes, maybe.  Fleeting, insignificant, pennies tossed into scummy ponds.

Only One deserves my hope.  He fulfills every promise and my thirsty soul.  Show me why I hope in You today, Lord.

Friday 20 February 2015

Hope? (Psalm 146:5)

Two lost pieces of the newest puzzle.
Third pair of pants getting covered with sticky.
Another carpet needs to be vacuumed.
Valentine's cards all over the floor.
Double meltdown at the park.
Cold wind.
Big red bump beside his eye.
Poopy diaper.
Marbles flying.
Poopy diaper - again.
Toddler on the table.
Peed-on socks.
Slamming doors.
Valentine's cards all over the floor - again.
Dishes multiplying.
Joy diminishing.
Hope elusive.

Thursday 19 February 2015

Giving because He Gave

John 3:16
For this is how God loved the world:
He gave His one and only son
so that everyone
who believes in Him
will not perish but have eternal life.
John 3:16

The words bounce off our tongues and the dining room walls as we munch on granola.  The rhythm and repetition is for them, for me, for fun, for memory, for minds, for hearts, for eternity.  This is how God loved the world: He gave His one and only son.  Infinitely many ways to love, but this right here is how God chose to love the world: by giving.  By lavishly filling my need with his excess.  Not His leftovers, His firstborn.  Not His unwanted, His beloved.  Not someone else's, His own and Himself.

And so we give.  We love because He first loved us.  We give because He first gave us.

The choice for Goofball was easy today: straight to his precious animals, one of his favourite horses.  Shep took more time and thought, but came back with the bowling set.

Wednesday 18 February 2015

Lies

The lies I'm hearing are getting out of control:
You shouldn't have eaten that lunch.
You should have worked out yesterday.
You should have done more sit-ups today.
You shouldn't have snuck those chocolates.
You should have more self-control.
You should have more discipline.
You shouldn't jiggle there.
You don't deserve to feel beautiful.
They come faster and yell louder and I convince myself that I am just not in the mood.  The biggest lie of all can cover my more painful lies, the ones I tell myself:
I don't want him to touch that.
I don't want him to see that.
I am not worth the effort.
I don't deserve to be beautiful.

Tuesday 17 February 2015

Heartcrack

A little fissure turns into a deep crack that drips out the mess you haven't quite labelled yet.  The drops of confession pool and the heartleak gets faster as words get put to the whelming undercurrent.  There is beauty in the puddle of vulnerability.  The pain I see so closely reflects mine and it is easy to know, and yet I didn't.  As I see the ashes your entrust me with, I sigh with understanding and turn my eyes to Him who knows the beauty that is coming.  Can you give up the guilt, honey?  Can you give up your picture of what should be and your fear of what might become?  Can you let that crack be where He whisper-pours into a deeper part of you?  For where you are weak, He responds with mercy.  And where you are weak, He is strong.  He will trade you those filthy rags of despair for a brand-new uniform of praise.

Weak (Psalm 6:2)

I'm losing my mind and I'm losing my voice.  Incessant whining and selfish entitlement are sucking me dry.  How did they get so irritating, self-centered, unlikable?  I raise my voice in frustration more times than I am willing to admit.  Because I know I am supposed to be patient, be kind, model love, and model grace.  I am the adult, the parent, the role model, the bigger person.  I know this time is short and these battles will drift away too quickly.  I know my time of influence is so limited and so critical.  I know what I want to be to them.  I know what I want to teach and instill.  But they hover and grumble and demand and never stop.  And I am just so weak.  I don't deserve this responsibility.  I don't have enough to give.  I am so weak to resist the impulse to be aggravated again.

With the psalmist I cry out, "Have mercy upon me, O Lord, for I am weak."

And then I praise with all the confidence this pitiful soul can muster today, "Thank You, O Lord, that (of all the options) You respond to my weakness with mercy.  Thank You, Lord.  Thank You, Lord."

Friday 13 February 2015

Greater Joy (Psalm 4:7)

I have it so good.  My husband is amazing and caring and we enjoy each other so much.  My kids are healthy and brilliant and hilarious and handsome and fun.  Our house feels just right for us and is allowing us to do so much for us and for others.  The friends I have right now know the real me and love me as I am.  I have time and energy to recognize my passions and opportunities to live them out.  My circumstances have their challenges here and there but, for the most part, I am living an easy and easy-to-say-blessed life.

And yet God declares that He fills my heart with greater joy than the most wonderful of circumstances.  My heart's joy is fickle.  I want it to be His Greater Joy, but I fear it isn't.  At all.  I know and rely on His love in the easy.  Because it is easy.  Or at least I did yesterday.  It is so easy to forget.

Lord, give me roots in Your Greater Joy for the long haul.  To know and rely on Your love in the hard.  Because it will be hard.  All around me is hard.  I barely finish typing the word 'hard' and another email arrives bearing someone else's bad news.  That's five in the last two weeks.  Four little souls gone way before their time and one more hanging in the balance.  Five enormous spheres of influence pierced with the hardest of hards.

It could be me.

I want to believe that I would still believe.

But all I can do for now is behold the beauty of the Lord.  Day in and day out.  Breath in and breath out.  I will seek Him, that I may dwell in His house and behold His beauty.  Adoring him each moment, I am becoming what I behold.

Tuesday 10 February 2015

Those Who Dream (Psalm 126:1)

Once captive to the monthly cycle of waiting and hoping, its loop-de-loop of anticipation and devastation so heartless in its extremes.  Enslavement to hope, as ironic as it seems, held me prisoner as love became effort and two became not-three.  Month after month, slower than I could stand and faster than I wanted, because the end result was always the same: the hope of all I had ever wanted, bleeding away again.

And then, one time it didn't.  One time the imagined hunger, exhaustion, and nausea became suddenly as real as the two lines that set me free.  Free to hope and dream and imagine myself in the role I was made for.

The role I am loving.  The role I am learning.  The role that is so much more than I could have ever understood.  The role that is changing me for Him and for them.

That confinement seems so long ago now.  He has given me the desires of my heart and then filled my heart with dreams of Him.  Big dreams, scary dreams, the kind where He Will Carry dreams.  I am captive no longer.  I am like those who dream.

Trophy Case (Psalm 147:10-11)

I don't want to brag, per se, and yet I'd like it if you noticed the things I'm good at.  See, I fake confidence well but it doesn't always come from below the surface.  So as much as I don't want to have to nonchalantly walk you past my trophy case, it would be nice if you said something nice.  That shiny one in the corner is for Stellar Friendship.   I'm pretty selfless, actually, and persistent in pursuit of people and relationships.  Maybe compliment me on how together my parenting is, I have a few medals hanging towards the left there: Rarely Yells and Fosters Growth.  An off-handed remark about how well I manage to stay on top of so many people and things wouldn't hurt (the inscription calls it Amazing Multitasker).  You might take note of my blue ribbons in Listening, Caring, Reaching Out, or Connecting. Did I mention that I came in just shy of first in the Empathy Olympics?  Oh, and the video looping over there is of my church accomplishments - I'm pretty awesome at our worship nights.

You must be pretty impressed, amirite?

Except that you aren't.  You aren't excited by what I can do and accomplish.  My strengths and successes are not what draw You to me, O Lord.  You just delight in me, straight up; in me who trusts in your love.

Saturday 7 February 2015

God Names the Stars (Psalm 147:4-5)

It's not like He needs to call them to supper or remind them that it's time to hurry up and get ready.  He won't be singing them a silly song or tucking them into bed at night.  I can't imagine he'd holler from afar when they're about to do something dangerous.  He doesn't need to call one, and differentiate it from the others.  It's not even like he needs to whisper in their ear, convincing them of His love.  Why do you think God names the stars?

Friday 6 February 2015

Not Quite Wanted

They like me, right?  I think they do.  No, they DO.  I know they do.  And yet...  And yet I can't quite shake the feeling of not quite being wanted.  Like it doesn't really matter if I can come or not.  Like they are being nice for remembering to invite the married mother-of-three in the first place.  I know they cannot mean it like that.  I know they cannot understand or be expected to understand the desire to spend time with my family, the difficulty of a spontaneous weekend away, the financial strain of 5 people living on one salary, the pressure of making sure my kids don't mess with their fun, the guilt of leaving them with my husband too long or too often.  And I don't know that I really want to be included and invited to everything so that I just end up having to say no and end up feeling guilty and disappointed.  I don't even know what I want - except to not feel like an afterthought.  I want to feel wanted.

Thursday 5 February 2015

Unfurl

I awake every morning and unfurl my roots into the rich depths of You.  I stretch towards the sun and my soul cannot get enough of your warmth and  goodness.  You feed me life and strength and joy to embrace the day.  You cover me with cool peace and gentle rest to restore me in the night.  You weather me, growing me into the beauty that you envision.  May my fruitfulness bear my thanks to You.

Wednesday 4 February 2015

Quicksand

I'm just sad that you're hurting.  I'm sad that you're sinking and tired and can't envision trying to slog your way out of the quicksand.  I'm offering you my hand over and over and all you do is lift yours to wave.  I used to think of you and smile, but now your name makes my heart feel so burdened.  I love you and I want so much more for you than this.  I'm just so sad that you are hurting.  In my dreams I am the quicksand-gobbling monster that takes all this away.  But in my prayers I am on my knees begging God to show Himself to you and to let this be the thing that cracks you open wider for Him.

Exalt Devo 2

God pulls me in and the words in my ear make me fall for Him all over again.  His voice booms as it whispers and I hear Him utter entwined messages of worth, healing, and confidence as only the Divine can.

Deep and inexplicably selfless love rejoices over me in glorious melodies that flow from His lips as He convinces me of my significance in His eyes.  This is the message I have known since childhood, but its words now take root in my heart and take shape in my life in ways altogether new and mesmerizing.

For alongside the majestic singing of my God are the emboldened murmurs of my own heart as it begins to bubble.  And what else could it do but respond?  That is exactly what it should do.  We love because He first loved us.  I love because He first loved me.

What is stirring in your heart?  If He loves you, and He does, what happens next?  Perhaps you want to take more opportunities to stop and bask in that love.  Perhaps you want to practice living in the awareness of that love throughout your day.  Perhaps you want to tell Him that you love Him too.  Perhaps His love has awakened the desire to rekindle your relationship.  Perhaps His love makes you want to do something tangible for a neighbour or a friend.  Perhaps His love is calling you to step up, open up, give up, make up, sign up, speak up, or listen up.

During this time of prayer, respond to God's love in some way.  It might be in an attitude of the heart, and that is great.  But if you have felt a concrete stirring in response to God's love at work in you tonight, pay attention to what He is saying to you.  Pray about it now and while you are talking to Him about it, pull out your phone and write down your response to His love.  Make a reminder to yourself and don't let yourself off the hook.  This isn't just another to-do, this is a response to God's love for you.  Let's pray.

...

Each of us has a unique relationship with You, Lord.  As we encounter your unfailing love for us, we will each respond in our own way.  Give us the ears to hear and the eyes to see Your greater-than-we-can-grasp love for us.  Give us the courage to respond to it wholeheartedly, faithfully, and recklessly.  Amen.

Tuesday 3 February 2015

Exalt Devo 1

The days I choose to dwell on His love for me are never fruitless.  I cradle my Bible in my hands like a morning cup of coffee, inhaling the aroma of His word.

A few minutes later my reflection looks back at me, toothbrush dangling between its lips and hair untamed, and I claim the tenderness of His love in His words that I have trouble believing:
You are altogether beautiful, my darling, there is no flaw in you.  You have stolen my heart, my treasure, my bride.  You have stolen my heart with one glance of your eyes.

The warmth of His adoring love follows me as my day goes on until the next momentary breath of quiet and with a mountain of tasks ahead of me my body slogs through the mundane letting my mind engage with more of His words: He rescued me because He delighted in me.  The Lord takes pleasure in His people.  He will take great delight in you.  He will rejoice over you with singing.  As I let the words circle around and around they spiral their way deeper into my heart.  He takes great delight in me?  He looks at me and breaks into song?  Already my day is changing in light of this jubilant and uncontainable love I am not sure I will ever understand.

A few hours later, in a place of regret and shame for the careless words I have spoken, never mind godless attitudes I have entertained, my thoughts turn to the One who knows the most intimate details of my outside and my inside.  The One who knit me together, formed me in darkness, and knows every hidden crevice of my soul, has precious thoughts about me.  My Creator has more precious thoughts about me than I could count.  Again I am floored by His intimate and forgiving love, in awe that it is directed at me.

The pace of the day picks up, needs around me and demands upon me.  This time hours pass before my heart is stirred again into looking up.  The thoughts of His love that have been percolating all day seem to be culminating as they rest upon the stunning realization that there is no greater love than that of my God for me.  That the way and the amount in which He loves me - even enough to give up His Son on my behalf - cannot be matched.  That no amount of time, space. joy, pain, doubt. shame, sickness, need, excess, circumstances, or messiness will ever be able to separate me from that unearned but oh-so-deserved-because-He-said-so love of God.

Let's use this time to deliberately engage with God's love for each of us.  Let's let it sink in to touch a deeper place inside of us.  I encourage you to consciously choose a posture for this time of prayer.  Do you want to stand in proclamation, raise your hands in praise, kneel in reverence, lay down humility, look up in intimate confidence, or leap for joy?  Choose something that reflects your understanding of God's love this evening and meditate on a verse, song, or truth that is resonating with you.  Let's pray.

....


God, we bask in Your love tonight.  You love us.  You know us and delight in us.  We can't make You love us more or make You love us less.  We can't understand why you love us or how much You love us.  We are just so thankful that You do.  Amen.