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"I Love You God"

As the Women’s Director at my church, there are seasons of calm, but also seasons of busyness. I am currently in a season of busy, which sometimes, as in this case, can turn into a few days of stress. When stressed out, I tend to clean because while I might not be able to control the situation, I can control the dishes. I can at least move them from the hot soapy water of the sink into the dishwasher and then turn it on. I can sweep and mop and turn the kitchen into a sparkly, shiny area, while my stressed out situation is not so sparkly and shiny.

The other day, I was in “cleaning mode” and had told my 3 ½ year old son, Wesley, that he could go outside onto the patio to wait for his grilled cheese sandwich. I left the kitchen sliding glass door open to the patio, so I could keep a faint eye on him and also hear him if he called me. While waiting for his grilled cheese to bake in the oven, I was vigorously scrubbing the dried pizza and crusty pasta off our plates in the sink from the night before. My thoughts were running wildy about a new discipleship/mentor program a friend of mine and I were implementing at our church... “What if I don’t have enough mentors for this new program? What if I have to turn these young, lovely, ladies away? I really felt like the Lord had confirmed me all along the way with beginning this new mentor ministry…what if I was wrong? What if everything is going to tank? What if this was the wrong thing to do? What if I look like a complete fool in front of everyone at church???”
Then I remember Wes’s sandwich in the oven, and of course, it is completely black on one side. I take it out and as all good moms do, I get out a knife and start scraping all of the burned side off into the sink. So now I’m mad that I have all these microscopic crumbs of burnt bread layering my sink and faucet so that I will now be cleaning it all over again, scrubbing those dang crunchy crispy crumbs off my sink. Then as I turn back to the grilled cheese that is now officially a “fixer upper” I begin to beat myself up with new negative thoughts (as if the stressed out ones weren’t enough) like, “Ugh, what kind of a mom can’t even get a grilled cheese right? Seriously? It’s a dumb grilled cheese sandwich! Dang!”

As I’m taking Wes’s wilted, sad, sandwich out onto the porch, I come to about 5 feet from the open sliding door and all I can see is Wes’s profile and he is very, very still…he’s gazing intently up into the sky totally hushed.  He doesn’t see that I’m walking towards him. Just a few seconds later as I watch him, I see and hear him shout out to the sky, “I LOVE YOU GOD!”

I could barely hold back the tears. Yes, Wes, you get it buddy. You really get it.

The kingdom belongs to such as these and this small, simple phrase reminds me why. Sweet Wes. Waiting for his lunch. Taking time from his day to look up at the sky just to say, “I LOVE YOU GOD!”

Thank you for your impeccable timing, Lord. That is exactly what I needed to see and hear. No matter what my thoughts are God, no matter how stressed I am, no matter if I fail or if I succeed... Please know, Lord, that I love you. I love you for being God. I love you for coming to Earth. I love you for dying for me. I love you for being my Savior. I love you for speaking to me. I love you for giving me Wes through very difficult circumstances. I love you for his innocence. I love you for using a 3 ½ year old to take me out of my frazzled mess to remind me of your sweet, yet oh so powerful love. Dear Lord, please hear from Wes's and my heart tonight, “WE LOVE YOU GOD!”


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To the woman in New York on the fence about abortion,
The conservatives in the nation are in an uproar about the decision your state made this week. They have decided to give you the option to “choose” to abort your child for yet a longer percent of your term.
This isn’t new.
In the Old Testament, women were sacrificing their babies by throwing them into rivers in order to appease the gods.
Today, women sacrifice their babies in honor of women’s rights.
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I know exactly how you feel today.
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