I watch the little boy giggle as he reaches for his mamma's face.
They touch nose to nose and she giggles too.
And I think "that sweet, belly giggle, that is good"
A young girl with a hello kitty cap sits engrossed in her book
A couple just past her sit close and with fingers intertwined.
Contentment, enjoyment and I think it is good.
And I can not get over the fact that "the earth is full of the goodness of The Lord." (Psalm 33:5)
And I sit and watch good things.
But I sit too long and the good is slowly replaced as I watch.
The mamma loses patience with the wiggly child and the moment is gone.
A sick child coughs and wheezes, this introvert moment is invaded by snot and coughing and germs
no one wants to share space or air with.
The title of the book is uncovered and in the young girls hand is a false savior in paperback form.
Why are they here together, in the middle of the day? That couple, so quiet and close.
Are they that connected that they have to be together? Or is there something waiting to be absorbed
that will take the strength of two souls.
And it plays again, like a song on repeat. "The earth is full of the goodness of The Lord."
"Here?" I ask him
"Here in the middle of tangible sickness and hurt?"
And my heart hears it:
"The earth is full of my goodness."
And my heart cries "help me see!"
To see goodness not despite this mess the evil that flows around us and from us.
But in this desert, to see the well of water like Hagar, to see it and know all is well, full of the
goodness of The Lord.
Blessings
Abram, the original recipient of blessing.
"Abram, you've got no kids and now I'm taking you from your comfort,
your culture,
your community but I've got big blessings for you.
Your sons will fight,
your wife will be taken by another man for a little while,
your nephew will toe the line, practically do the macarena on it.
You’ll go decades between hearing from me,
you’ll die with out seeing the climax of the blessing.
But it is yours"
The blessed tribe, the Levites the only one of the twelve tribes not to get any land.
"I'm going to bless you, but you've got no permanent home.
No property to give you statues.
No land to pass on to your children.
But you, of the twelve tribes are blessed.”
The blessing.
The blessed.
The barak.
In the Hebrew barak the word used for blessing made up two words and three letters
The ancient Hebrew pictographs (the three letters) show that "to bless" is for:
the SON (b)
to extend the PALM OF HIS HAND(r)
to you, to make you LINEAGE (k)
barak.
Isn't it to receive God himself.
Blessed.
barak.
The son extending his bloodied palms on the tree to make us lineage.
The son extending, inviting us with palm open into family relationship.
"Abram, you've got no kids and now I'm taking you from your comfort,
your culture,
your community but I've got big blessings for you.
Your sons will fight,
your wife will be taken by another man for a little while,
your nephew will toe the line, practically do the macarena on it.
You’ll go decades between hearing from me,
you’ll die with out seeing the climax of the blessing.
But it is yours"
The blessed tribe, the Levites the only one of the twelve tribes not to get any land.
"I'm going to bless you, but you've got no permanent home.
No property to give you statues.
No land to pass on to your children.
But you, of the twelve tribes are blessed.”
The blessing.
The blessed.
The barak.
In the Hebrew barak the word used for blessing made up two words and three letters
The ancient Hebrew pictographs (the three letters) show that "to bless" is for:
the SON (b)
to extend the PALM OF HIS HAND(r)
to you, to make you LINEAGE (k)
barak.
Isn't it to receive God himself.
Blessed.
barak.
The son extending his bloodied palms on the tree to make us lineage.
The son extending, inviting us with palm open into family relationship.
Seeing Giants as Grace
Pulling away from the looming white house tucked away from the world.
Framed by tri-colored trees.
I ask:
How?
How do I share in their sorrow and and count all as grace?
I pictured the tiny pink body wrapped up tight, secure inside his plastic world.
How does she look at her baby and hear things like:
"If you were below sea level things would be different."
So if this satin skinned, human had been born here, or there, or any where but where his heaving lungs rest, life would not include this darkness?
Pressure from residing in the mountains of Colorado suffocate his tiny lungs.
I watch as the carshop, the church with its massive brick front, the empty business all fade into the past and ask again:
"How?"
I hit the middle button on my radio.
The radio preachers.
There is nothing wrong with them, only that I feel compleatly inadiquite to listen to them and determin truth from fraud with out my bible and maticulous notes to check after the sermon.
Something about this man caught me though.
The story of the twelve spies was being read.
The ten spies who refused to believe that God was bigger than the giants awaiting them in their promised land.
The people again grumbling of circumstances.
But then,
Joshua.
Caleb.
They spoke.
They believed.
Is that it?
To look not to the circumstances but to the one who has promised.
This list I'm writing,
it hasn't brought about the amazing turn around in the last four days that Ann saw in her year long journey, but it will won't it?
The spiritual immaturity I am now so aware of and the maturity I crave will come.
To know Him.
To be aware that I am known by Him.
To speak with pen and ink the promises God has provided.
To believe the Most High is greater than circumstances.
To journey aware of the giants, the mighty people, and the strong men not blind to any of it.
To journey aware that the Most High has already promised victory.
That is how to see all as grace isn't it?
Framed by tri-colored trees.
I ask:
How?
How do I share in their sorrow and and count all as grace?
I pictured the tiny pink body wrapped up tight, secure inside his plastic world.
How does she look at her baby and hear things like:
"If you were below sea level things would be different."
So if this satin skinned, human had been born here, or there, or any where but where his heaving lungs rest, life would not include this darkness?
Pressure from residing in the mountains of Colorado suffocate his tiny lungs.
I watch as the carshop, the church with its massive brick front, the empty business all fade into the past and ask again:
"How?"
I hit the middle button on my radio.
The radio preachers.
There is nothing wrong with them, only that I feel compleatly inadiquite to listen to them and determin truth from fraud with out my bible and maticulous notes to check after the sermon.
Something about this man caught me though.
The story of the twelve spies was being read.
The ten spies who refused to believe that God was bigger than the giants awaiting them in their promised land.
The people again grumbling of circumstances.
But then,
Joshua.
Caleb.
They spoke.
They believed.
Is that it?
To look not to the circumstances but to the one who has promised.
This list I'm writing,
it hasn't brought about the amazing turn around in the last four days that Ann saw in her year long journey, but it will won't it?
The spiritual immaturity I am now so aware of and the maturity I crave will come.
To know Him.
To be aware that I am known by Him.
To speak with pen and ink the promises God has provided.
To believe the Most High is greater than circumstances.
To journey aware of the giants, the mighty people, and the strong men not blind to any of it.
To journey aware that the Most High has already promised victory.
That is how to see all as grace isn't it?
In Tenderness
In tenderness He sought me
Weary and sick with sin
And on His shoulders brought me back to His fold again
While angels in His presence sang, until the courts of heaven rang.
And on His shoulders brought me back to His fold again
While angels in His presence sang, until the courts of heaven rang.
Can we just talk about this simple truth "there is love that came."
Straining to see people in the dim lighting of Falls Park my heart sank when I didn't see anyone.
But then it skipped a beat when I realized the girl sitting hunched over in tears in the center of the circle was who I had come to find.
I made a wide half circle around the group.
"I thought she said she was alone?"
"Maybe it's not her?"
Inching closer, I realized it was her.
"Why have I never taken a self defense class before"
"I think I can take out the small one... oh he's not small he's hunched over.... never mind"
"Why do I only have my taser when it's light out and I'm in a safe place!"
"I think their praying... I think strangers are praying over her!"
"People who pray don't kill people right..."
Slipping past one of the people encircling her I sat on the wet fountain edge next to her.
Realizing not one head was lifted, the prayers of the saints were flooding from strangers lips covering my sweet friend and lifting to heaven.
They were strangers to her too, just four Christians passing by when the Spirit told them to stop and pray with a stranger.
Extravagant love pursued one daughter when she felt like she walked in darkness.
Love that came for just one who felt like she had wandered from the fold.
Just a walk, but perfectly planned so that one in despair would cross with four willing to speak truth and pray in the name of the one who breaks the chains of despair.
For years my greatest fear has been to be loved and then abandoned. "True love casts out all fear" That was above and beyond my understanding. True love, in my mind, did just the opposite it brought with it a powerful fear, "If I truly love, then my heart is left open to hurt and scars. Only those you love can hurt you, if you didn't love you would care about their absence, broken promises, miscommunications, death, hurt when they hurt, fear when they fear, or the like."
The what if's and dangerously real threats of pain that affection and deep relationships brought with them have made me stiff arm when I should have embrace and put on a facade when called to be transparent.
This week, absently listening to my play list while I ran through down town, these lyrics almost took my breath away:
It hit me "there is love that came."
Reveal in this for a moment, where you may have earned love but it is unable or refused to stay.
Love that you never could have enticed or manipulated to come, came.
Love that comes every morning:
"God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out,
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left." Lamentations 3:22-24
his merciful love couldn’t have dried up.
They’re created new every morning.
How great your faithfulness!
I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over).
He’s all I’ve got left." Lamentations 3:22-24
As you walk through your day, do you know what trails behind you:
"Your beauty and love chase after me
every day of my life." Psalm 23:6
every day of my life." Psalm 23:6
What promise this love that came makes:
“This exile is just like the days of Noah for me:
I promised then that the waters of Noah
would never again flood the earth.
I’m promising now no more anger,
no more dressing you down.
For even if the mountains walk away
and the hills fall to pieces,
My love won’t walk away from you,
my covenant commitment of peace won’t fall apart.” The God who has compassion on you says so." Isaiah 54:9-10
would never again flood the earth.
I’m promising now no more anger,
no more dressing you down.
For even if the mountains walk away
and the hills fall to pieces,
My love won’t walk away from you,
my covenant commitment of peace won’t fall apart.” The God who has compassion on you says so." Isaiah 54:9-10
There is love that came very tangibly through four strangers that night in the park.
There is love that came in the mundane, to shepherds and sheep.
There is love that came in power, I mean bring breath back into his own lungs!
There is love that comes in our mundane moments.
Love that comes in power when death seems to reign.
Love that we can tangibly give with out fear.
There is love that came in the mundane, to shepherds and sheep.
There is love that came in power, I mean bring breath back into his own lungs!
There is love that comes in our mundane moments.
Love that comes in power when death seems to reign.
Love that we can tangibly give with out fear.
He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me.
You know the beautiful display full of colorful petals, plump, budded, aromatic blossoms Whole Foods sets out, right in front of the door?
A few Wednesdays ago, I pushed my cart full of weekly grocery necessities past that very stand.
I walked past them slowly contemplating picking up a bright arrangement.
But I couldn't justify it.
I just couldn't.Pouting I walked away full of self pity.
How embarrising that, that was my reaction.
But it was.
The Spirit very gently reminded me that my heart was treading on a slippery slop, but I didn't care.
Have you ever had a moment like that?
You know you're wrong, but something inside of you screams that the real crime is the standard of right and wrong.
"I'm much more content than so many people. I expect very little, and I can't even have what little I expect."
Oh the yuck that something beautiful like a masterly displayed arrangement full of creation can reveal in my heart.
Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!
I can't even tell you if my heart had truly relinquished the self pity, and was pure in what I prayed.
But pushing past the display of lushness I thought:
"I just wish you gave flowers Jesus, not like in a field but in an actual bouquet."
Silly? If only you heard all of the things I told Jesus. This would be among the least ridiculous.
On the way home I kept thinking about the bundles of colorful delight and my bratty attitude.
Ashamed I repented and moved on to other things.
Coming into work the next morning I walked around the corner to find coffee.
On a metal push cart sat almost a dozen green vases with cream colored carnations, soft pink roses, mint kissed hydrangeas, white daises and fresh greenery.
 |
"Who are all of these for?" I hollered down the hall
"The admins, pick one."
If I had been alone I wouldn't have fought the lump in my throat.
My bratty attitude, my ungratefulness, my pride.
But there I stood in the hall, with not just any arrangement in my hands but my favorites.
The beauty of the Psalm flooded me.
Don't skip this part read it carefully, savor the amazing sweetness of what David says:
This is too much, too wonderful— I can’t take it all in!
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!. Psalm 139
I thank you, High God—you’re breathtaking!. Psalm 139
The creator stepped in to give His creature something wonderful.
How does he work? He the Creator, stepped into his creation to save those bent on His destruction.
"Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met." Matthew 6:25-33 the message
After my show of ridiculousness the one who had just made the sun get up and shine, and watch each raven fall, all while being glorified by creatures and elders. Gave me a bouquet of flowers.
He loves. He loves. He loves me.
So many ways He could have reminded me. But that day such a sweet, tender way was used.
Grace Brings Grace
Going into the house she met an advocate bigger than her adversaries.
Had dust ever been more beautiful?
Had tears ever been sweeter?
She had touched many men.
There would never be a day better than today to pour the sweet oil.
Then He spoke.
His words only convinced the orphaned heart that he understood.
He spoke to the advesary.
He silenced the accusations.
Then he looked.
"Your sins are forgiven."
Again.
"Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace (Shalom, the world 'as it should be')"
Had dust ever been more beautiful?
Had tears ever been sweeter?
She had touched many men.
There would never be a day better than today to pour the sweet oil.
Then He spoke.
His words only convinced the orphaned heart that he understood.
He spoke to the advesary.
He silenced the accusations.
Then he looked.
"Your sins are forgiven."
Again.
"Your sins are forgiven. Go in peace (Shalom, the world 'as it should be')"
A Blonde Moment
I like to think of myself as a planner, and most days I feel meticulous and organized.
Monday, was not one of those days.
Monday was a blonde moment day.
And not a blonde moment like sniffing a scratch and sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool, a literal blonde moment.
These last few days I have been a tiny, little bit antsy.
I feel like so much in life right now is on the verge of changing, but nothing has changed just yet.
This is what inspired my blonde moment.... I hope.
And don't pretend like you can't identify.
On a whim I decided I wanted... no needed to be blonde.
You know that need you get, when you are watching food network and all of a sudden you need homemade lava chocolate cake with dark chocolate, warm fudge filling?
This was a moment just like that.
There was no way Becca could fit me in for a color that afternoon so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I jumped in my car and landed at the nearest Target.
I browsed the magazines until I saw the perfect blonde shade for me.
I took the magazine to the hair color aisle, downloaded "ModiFace: hair makeover" from the app store.
I then compared the blonde on the model and the blonde in the bottle.
I compared the blondes on the app to what would look good with my skin.
The final step before taking the plunge into blonde bliss, I text my level headed,direct, sweet friend.
"Blonde?"
Her reply-
"Please don't"
I calmly walked back to my car, like I hadn't momentarily slipped into impulsive insanity.
Monday, was not one of those days.
Monday was a blonde moment day.
And not a blonde moment like sniffing a scratch and sniff sticker at the bottom of a pool, a literal blonde moment.
These last few days I have been a tiny, little bit antsy.
I feel like so much in life right now is on the verge of changing, but nothing has changed just yet.
This is what inspired my blonde moment.... I hope.
And don't pretend like you can't identify.
On a whim I decided I wanted... no needed to be blonde.
You know that need you get, when you are watching food network and all of a sudden you need homemade lava chocolate cake with dark chocolate, warm fudge filling?
This was a moment just like that.
There was no way Becca could fit me in for a color that afternoon so I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I jumped in my car and landed at the nearest Target.
I browsed the magazines until I saw the perfect blonde shade for me.
I took the magazine to the hair color aisle, downloaded "ModiFace: hair makeover" from the app store.
I then compared the blonde on the model and the blonde in the bottle.
I compared the blondes on the app to what would look good with my skin.
The final step before taking the plunge into blonde bliss, I text my level headed,direct, sweet friend.
"Blonde?"
Her reply-
"Please don't"
I calmly walked back to my car, like I hadn't momentarily slipped into impulsive insanity.
Night Alter
Over the past few months my mind and body have begun to play a sort of tug of war.
At night when everyone else is asleep, something inside of my mind kicks into full gear and prompts my body awake.
Thus begins the tug of war.
My mind wants to be up and productive; my body wants to be tightly tucked away and unconscious to the world for at least another 5 hours.
Something about the night fuels team mind and pulls me towards thoughtfulness.
Many nights I wake up with thoughts already in my head, spilling into my consciousness.
Last night I woke up to the thought “I have another question for you.”
The questions are the worst.
These questions of the night are like a begging child, they can’t be ignored, and are too smart to let you just play dead.
They nag and pull until you face them and the answers they demand.
“The God of the whole earth saved you?”
“Yes”
I replied and quickly turned over to play dead.
“The God of the whole universe stepped in and saved YOU? He commands lighting, oceans obey his voice and angels tremble at his name, and he sent his powerful, precious son to save small, pathetic, inadequate you?This is the kind of pathetic religion Roman history is made up of.”
I tossed and I turned trying to answer the question, thinking through the question, evaluating the question.
“Is it even plausible that my maker would allow his own blood to be spilled onto his creation for his creation to cover the destructive violations we infringed against his very person, against his perfect, good nature?
I willingly, joyfully embraced my sin.
I invested in fear.
I submitted to anger.
I spoon fed pride.
I did not allow false saviors, I built them with my own hands.
I built myself into a false savior and presented myself to others leading to more destruction! “
His death made no sense to me.
His death standing alone makes no sense.
But then sweet truth started pouring into my mind.
If I look at his death standing alone, apart from his character, apart from what his perfect life
accomplished, apart from my present position, and my future hope it is an incomplete truth.
It is like looking at a puzzle in pieces and calling it ugly because you haven’t seen the picture when completed it shows.
So I know this question, this doubt, this attack from the father of lies will come again.
I have started rehearsing the truth, remembering the truth.
He is the LORD and beside him there is no savior.
He pursued my prostituting soul.
He came and lived completely right-righteous- because of that right living I now have a legal
standing of righteous.
Because of this legal standing I now can approach the throne of grace with confidence.
And I’m not just approaching the throne as any old person I am confidently approaching as an adopted first-born son.
My big brother Jesus is standing at the throne with me.
He is my advocate.
Not an advocate who begs for my forgiveness but who presents my case as one perfectly righteous.
He calls me beloved of God.
He called me by name.
My maker has made himself my husband, the Lord of the whole earth.
The Lamb who is in the midst of the throne will be my shepherd.
As my shepherd he will make sure the only things that trail behind me are goodness and mercy.
He will wake me up with mercy.
My mighty warrior King will sing over me while I sleep.
He puts weapons into my hand that have divine power to destroy strongholds.
He throws down the great dragon.
He has made a way to call me honored, and loved. He says I am precious in his sight.
One day this perfect Kippur lamb, this might warrior king, my daddy will come back and reign forever.
His glory and the enjoyment of it will be the drive of our souls.
His perfect plan initiated and committed my soul to him.
His perfect life is now accredited to me.
His death and resurrection now causes all kinds of life to spring up in me.
His presence causes my present position to be filled with confident hope of victory.
His future return fuels glory in my soul.
Does any of this make sense? I find no logic in it.
And it gives me chill bumps to recognize he has not only caused my depravity and His divinity to collide.
He has paid for the exchange with His own blood.
Writting Memorials
 |
| Atoned for and Adopted |
But God's firm foundation stands, bearing this seal: “The Lord knows those who are his,” and, “Let everyone who names the name of the Lord depart from iniquity.”2 Tim. 2:19,
suffering qualitatively changes. Pain, loss, and weakness are no longer the end of the world and the death of your hopes.
If you are not a Christ follower, then sufferings are omens of the end of your world.
All that you live for will die when you die
The hope of the righteous brings joy, but the expectation of the wicked will perish. Prov. 10: 28.
But when you are in Christ, sufferings become the context to awaken your truest hopes and bring them to fulfillment." -David Powlison
Carboard Testimonies
We've all been there, that awkward moment, you make the split second decision
to cross the street before passing the now visible beggar.
Sometimes I stay on the same side of the sidewalk but pass by like I've just developed advanced stages of cataracts and can't see the end of my own nose, much less the impecunious man sitting a whole entire 2 feet to my left.
There are times I drop a dollar in the outstretched cup, careful to divert my eyes to the now fascinating crack between my shoes. As if poverty is a condition to be caught through eye contact.
Sitting folding clothes, I pulled up Youtube and clicked on the first card board song I found.
I know, I know it's odd, but it's what I do.
I clicked on this video.
Our sweet little testimonies aren't so nice and tidy.
Those cardboard testimonies are attractive, clean, inviting, some very powerful.
I am a huge picture person.
I kind of envisioned salvation like me standing in my 1950's attire, knocking at the honorable Jesus door, presenting him with my perfect apple pie to complement the feast he's prepared.
Every guest is dressed in their best, on their best behavior.
The picture he is beginning to paint isn't so inviting.
It's messy and there's no clean piece of cardboard to carefully, meticulously write on.
Thankfully, He doesn't avoid poverty like I do.
He doesn't cross the street to avoid me.
He joyfully endured the cross to affectionately embrace me.
He doesn't avoid my gaze, and find other things fascinating.
I'm mean he created arch angles and has elders, and animals, and saints crying "Holy, holy, holy" day and night. He wouldn't be making up an interest, that's captivating.
But my King is enthralled with me; not because of a beauty I’ve worked up on my own.
Oh no, no, no.
At the foot of the cross he has dressed me in his own purity, his own righteousness, his own status.
He doesn't drop a pity dollar in my cup, but prepares a feast of well aged wine, well refined.
Nothing cheap for his beloved.
And at that feast when my cup is so full that thick grace liquid is spilling over the edge washing my hands with it's crimson shade, Jesus will be swallowing up death that demanded a debt I could not pay.
I, we were just like the inspiration for cardboard testimonies.
We were the beggar sitting in the shadow dirty, no revolting, invisible, broken, wrecked.
“For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.
These are their stones of rememberence
Sometimes I stay on the same side of the sidewalk but pass by like I've just developed advanced stages of cataracts and can't see the end of my own nose, much less the impecunious man sitting a whole entire 2 feet to my left.
There are times I drop a dollar in the outstretched cup, careful to divert my eyes to the now fascinating crack between my shoes. As if poverty is a condition to be caught through eye contact.
Sitting folding clothes, I pulled up Youtube and clicked on the first card board song I found.
I know, I know it's odd, but it's what I do.
I clicked on this video.
Our sweet little testimonies aren't so nice and tidy.
Those cardboard testimonies are attractive, clean, inviting, some very powerful.
I am a huge picture person.
I kind of envisioned salvation like me standing in my 1950's attire, knocking at the honorable Jesus door, presenting him with my perfect apple pie to complement the feast he's prepared.
Every guest is dressed in their best, on their best behavior.
The picture he is beginning to paint isn't so inviting.
It's messy and there's no clean piece of cardboard to carefully, meticulously write on.
Thankfully, He doesn't avoid poverty like I do.
He doesn't cross the street to avoid me.
He joyfully endured the cross to affectionately embrace me.
He doesn't avoid my gaze, and find other things fascinating.
I'm mean he created arch angles and has elders, and animals, and saints crying "Holy, holy, holy" day and night. He wouldn't be making up an interest, that's captivating.
But my King is enthralled with me; not because of a beauty I’ve worked up on my own.
Oh no, no, no.
At the foot of the cross he has dressed me in his own purity, his own righteousness, his own status.
He doesn't drop a pity dollar in my cup, but prepares a feast of well aged wine, well refined.
Nothing cheap for his beloved.
And at that feast when my cup is so full that thick grace liquid is spilling over the edge washing my hands with it's crimson shade, Jesus will be swallowing up death that demanded a debt I could not pay.
I, we were just like the inspiration for cardboard testimonies.
We were the beggar sitting in the shadow dirty, no revolting, invisible, broken, wrecked.
“For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, which though he was rich, yet for your sake he became poor, so that you by his poverty might become rich.
2 Corinthians 8:9"
These are their stones of rememberence
Sparrows as Stones
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| "Sparrow" by Poppy |
"Why should I feel discouraged,
why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely,
Why should my heart be lonely,
and long for heav’n and home,
When Jesus is my portion?
When Jesus is my portion?
My constant Friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow,
His eye is on the sparrow,
and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow,
His eye is on the sparrow,
 |
| Poppy |
Whenever I am tempted,
whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing,
When songs give place to sighing,
when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him,
I draw the closer to Him,
from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow,
His eye is on the sparrow,
and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow,
His eye is on the sparrow,
and I know He watches me"
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