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?
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