He’s in a competitive phase lately — my son. Everything is “faster” and “stronger” and “better”.
And he’s the fastest and the best.
We remind him to be humble.
But the other day, during one of his “I’m faster than so-and-so monologues” he said thoughtfully, “mommy, no one is faster than God”.
Oh son. How right you are.
God can always catch up to us, no matter how far away we run. When we’re searching for Him, He’s there like a finger-snap. When we run down the beach toward him, He meets us way before we get halfway.
God is the fastest.
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He wants to go play with those best-ever-friends, again. It’s only been a day. “Can we please go play with them again, Mom? Please?”
And I heard myself saying something about ‘too much of a good thing’ and ‘not wearing out our welcome’ and maybe even something like ‘we’ll get tired of each other if we hang out too often’.
Seriously?
I should have retraced my steps, balancing out my words with just a bit of optimism, but I didn’t. The negative words hung in the air — suspended for a moment in time — then evaporated as the kids ran off to find something else to do.
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Time alone for reading God’s Word and quiet prayer can be hard to come by when you’re a busy parent from dawn till dusk. If I were to wake before my youngest, I’d have to set the alarm for four o’clock AM.
Lately, I’ve been pondering how to be inspired throughout my day — how to think about Jesus even in the middle of it all. I’ve started counting the gifts, you know, focusing on even the littlest things that are evidences of His love. I’ve been listening to Christian audio book downloads and sermons online while I do the dishes or fold laundry.
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Since childhood, I’ve been afraid. Afraid of death. Afraid of the stories describing a heavenly measuring rod. Afraid of the judgement. Afraid I wouldn’t ever be good enough to escape the consequences of sin and make it to the better place. Afraid of myself, my inadequacies, me — so quick-to-sin. A child afraid. A teenager afraid. Trying to get good graces and accolades. Wanting so badly to be told I was “good”. Seeking affirmation. Wishing so badly to escape the constant heaviness of realized imperfections.
Funerals made me catch my breath, hollowness in my soul, eyes dry and staring, unable to wrap my mind around the impossible forever of what-comes-next?
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