I think perhaps God painted tonight’s sunset just for me, a love letter splashed in blues and golds and silvers across the sky.
I forget, you know? Forget His love, His presence. Forget to come before Him in the morning and invite Him to walk with me through the day. He walks with me anyway, but I forget He is there when I neglect that invitation. I wish I didn’t forget.
He doesn’t forget, though, or choose to not remember, which is what I do more often if I’m honest. He is just always, always here, always beside and within and around and before. Always everywhere with me.
And so I drag my sick body into the van and turn the music up and drive these two little boys of mine out into the Iowa countryside and I sing along perhaps or answer questions or get annoyed by a line of bicycles or think about everything I could be doing at home if I wasn’t called upon to chauffeur. And I am tired and I don’t feel good and the baby’s sick and the kitchen’s a mess and I am forgetting Him and His grace and love which are the only things that can bring you through life when it’s like this, or when it’s like what your life is like right this very minute, all crazy and overwhelming.
Stop at the stop sign, flash the turn signal, turn left and right before me I see it, huge in the sky for everyone to see, but mostly for me to see, if you’ll allow me a bit of narcissism tonight.
Cloud and sun and glory and light and beauty all spilled in the heavens and streaming down to earth, and me without my camera. My camera could have never captured it anyway.
And I am still tired and hurting and busy and overwhelmed. But now I am mindful– mindful of His presence, His love, His grace and peace and His here-ness.
How great the love the Father has lavished upon me.