Little Hands

This is just a little something that I wrote one day for my daughter, years ago when she was struggling with the “everydays” of raising her two boys.  I thought it might still be helpful to someone. 

Little hands reach out for mama.
Little hearts reach out for love.
Little voices whisper bedtime prayers
to their Father up above.


When you tiptoe to their bedroom,
and see an angel’s sleeping face,
does your heart fill up with love and fear
cause God has put you in this place?


Little fingers in the kitchen
painting peanut butter scapes.
Little hand prints on the window.
Chocolate mustache on his face.
Playtime noises, children's voices
asking who and what and why.
Lego blocks and puzzle pieces,
on the floor they multiply.


And if sometimes you feel like crying
when there’s so much to do,
being mama to these little ones,
don't forget that God's with you.


Little arms reach out for mama.
Jelly kisses on your chin,
and then you thank your Heavenly Father
for these precious gifts from Him.


Little hands reach out for mama.
Little hearts cry out for Love,
and at night you whisper bed time prayers,
saying, “Thank you God above.”


© Diane Gruchow 2010

Wonder

I saw something wonderful yesterday. There were big, white, doily-like, beautiful, life-giving, water filled cutouts – snowflakes floating gently from the cloud filled skies.

Yes, I know that snowflakes mean that the cold, long winter is on its way. But right now, in these quickly passing minutes, the velvet soft flakes fall, kissing my face and settling down on the thirsty ground. I believe that, whenever your eyes and heart are focused on the beauty of the individual snowflakes, you’ll be filled with an overpowering sense of wonder.

I’ve been reading a book by Ravi Zacharias entitled Recapture the Wonder. It’s a fascinating look at the topic. Although I would never be able to adequately summarize the beauty of Ravi’s writing, or the depth of his knowledge and insight, maybe as I write these words I will be able to tease your appetite, encouraging you to listen some more of this godly man’s thoughts.

Ravi begins the book by talking about the “thrill of wonder and the irresistible urge to share it.” He asks how we can retain that sense of wonder though the ups and downs, the highs and lows of our lives. His beautiful answer is that “we can only do so with the touch of the Master.”

Hope is a part of man’s being. Man wants to hold on to the wonder he had as a child. He lives in the hope that he won’t ever lose that breath-holding awe that comes from seeing, hearing or feeling something way beyond his own ability to describe or sometimes even to understand.

Ravi talks about the song, The Lost Chord, which has been a favorite of mine for many years. He says that,”Deep within every human heart throbs the undying hope that somebody or something will bring both an explanation of what life is all about and a way to retain the wonder.”

In this book Ravi quotes many authors that I have never read, and some that I’ve had a small taste of. Many times he tells us about those people so that we have an idea of where they are coming from in their thoughts. It is broadening to be exposed to the ideas of so many people in one book. He also uses quotations from the scriptures liberally which establishes the credentials that must be there for this or any work to be taken seriously.

A beautiful quote just before Ravi begins to explain wonder is that of the poet John Donne, ”There is nothing that God hath established in the constant course of nature, and which therefore is done every day, but would seem a miracle and exercise our admiration, were it done but once.” Isn’t that true? Look around you, if only one flower ever poked its glorious head out of the ground it would be a cause for bold write-ups in the newspaper, for TV specials, for admiration and awe. If only one tiny baby was born, imagine the unbelievable stir that would cause. The events that God has established are miracles, but since they happen over and over again we cease to feel the wonder of them. Are we even looking?

© Diane Gruchow 2010