Morning Song

On this early fragrant morning

with a sweetness in the air

I wake to see the night wind has swept clean the path of care.

As the dew drops crisply sparkle

and the morning dove says “Hi!”

I look up and see God's paintbrush has touched the eastern sky.

A splash of pink awaits my eye,

 along with soft blue gray

and as I watch the colors change I greet a brand new day.

Soft green fur on the mountain

with granite facets aglow.

And the morning wind brings on its breath

rich perfume for those below.

To rise before the dawning and to see the dark sky turn to gold,
and to walk in His new clean morning helps me feel ever close to my Lord.

As I wake on each new tomorrow and I watch as the painting grows clear,

my heart swells with praise in the dawning light, ‘cause I know God, the artist, is here.

How will I fit in that painting? What is the picture you’ll see?

As the Painter stands back and looks at his work,

along with the beauty, there's me. 

The canvas is filled with the work of God’s hands,

the valley,

the sky

and the hill.

And He painted a women and loved her so much

that He freed her to live as she will. 

So the Painter awaits, and looks at his work,

the beauty,

the glory,

the day,

and the woman He made in His image of God, will trod on the canvas her way. 

Will she bring joy or sorrow to the heart of the Painter?

He's The Hero of My Story

When I have my grandchildren overnight, they always want a bed-time story. Many times my stories involve the remembrances I have of growing up. I imagine you have stories to tell as well – seems the older I get the clearer my memories of childhood and the foggier my memories of what I had for breakfast.

But the most important story I have is the story of how I met Christ, and how I was adopted into His family. Because you see, that’s exactly what happened. God searched for me, He wanted me as His child. He loved me, He reached out to me, I took His hand, and now I’m a child of the King.

Galatians 4 tells us that “. . . when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship.” He’s our Father and we are his heirs.

But I question whether my life shows that? Do my actions say I’m His child? Do they make my Father proud, or does He sometimes want to pretend I don’t belong to Him?

When my son was about 5 years old, we were in a department store and He, being his father’s child and curious as to how everything works, managed to turn off the escalator. When I saw who was involved in the catastrophe, stopping all traffic between the two floors of the department store, I continued walking, trying to pretend that Curt didn’t belong to me. It didn’t work – He yelled, Mom, I didn’t mean to do that, and came running toward me. So as everyone turned toward me, I had to claim him.

I am God’s child and He does claim me, even when I mess up and when my actions cause Him to cringe. There are so many times when I don’t make my Father proud, but I wonder - if I were to always put Him in my story - would I make as many mistakes as I do?

When I’m talking to someone who wants to complain about someone else, will I listen and repeat the gossip if God is a central part of my own story?

When I wake up in the morning, if I remember that God is a major part of my story, will I thank Him for the sunshine? Or will I complain that I have to get out of that comfortable bed?

When I sit down to eat, if I remember that God is the giver of everything good in my story, will I thank Him for my food?

When I’m hurt or afraid, do I remember that God is with me in this story? If I do, He gives me strength and calms my fears.

Recently we were in the Badlands and a terrible hailstorm came up. My granddaughters and I had just walked away from the truck and were looking at the gorgeous rock formations. Just then the clouds let go of some rain and then some hail. I called to my granddaughters that it was starting to hail and to run for the truck. They did – by this time the hail was getting bigger. I’m not as fast as I used to be, so I knew I couldn’t make it to the truck without getting hit by the golf-ball size hail, but I was able to reach a two sided shelter. From that shelter I couldn’t see what was going on with the family, but I prayed that they’d made it to the truck. The hail continued to fall, banging on the roof and sides of that shelter – hitting the ground and bouncing up and hitting my legs. As I put my face in the corner, and covered my head as best I could. I have to honestly say I was afraid for the safety of my family and for myself. I prayed there in that corner. The storm lasted for a long time, but when it finally let up I found my family mostly unhurt. The hail had broken the window and cut my granddaughter’s face a bit. The truck was quite damaged, but we were all safe. God was with us, and I knew it. He is the creator of the storm, and the master of it. He was the hero of that story.

Maybe if I remember how strong God is, if I remember that He gave me this life, if I remember that He cares deeply for me – If I remember to make Him Lord of my life – If I remember that He has written the story, He will smile and be pleased with my efforts to please Him. But even when I don’t remember, when I don’t please Him, He loves me, cause I’m His kid, and so are you.