Daughter of God

When you hear the sound,

your spirit trembles.

Your voice ignites.

When you hear the sound,

your focus sharpens.

You have new sight.

-L.P.

It happens almost daily; usually a song I’ve heard before. Yet the meanings shift and morph into whatever my spirit is in need of the most. Though, it always feels special. A sign of His grace just for me.

That day I had felt the drain of life spin my heart into a hole of doubt. There was nothing I felt accomplished about. The sink was full, laundry waited in the dryer, my son couldn’t be consoled, I had a stack of untouched assignments, and I knew my husband would soon be home, drained himself.

“Lord, fill me. Fill me with the energy, wisdom, and patience to do what is required of me. Amen.”

I half whispered half thought the quick prayer.

M seemed to sense my strain and intensified his cries. I hoped the short drive to the pharmacy would calm him. Off we trudged to the car. I pulled out of our drive and turned the radio on.

“You're picking up toys on the living room floor
For the fifteenth time today
Matching up socks
Sweeping up lost cheerios that got away

You put a baby on your hip
Color on your lips and head out the door
While I may not know you,
I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you, it all matters just as long

As you do everything you do
To the glory of the One who made you,
'Cause He made you,
To do
Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
Tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And every little thing you do

Maybe you’re that guy with the suit and tie
Maybe your shirt says your name
You may be hooking up mergers
Cooking up burgers
But at the end of the day

Little stuff
Big stuff
In between stuff
God sees it all the same
And while I may not know you
I bet I know you
Wonder sometimes, does it matter at all?
Well let me remind you, it all matters just as long

As you do everything you do
To the glory of the One who made you,
'Cause He made you
To do
Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
Tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And everything you do

Maybe you’re sitting in math class
Or maybe on a mission in the Congo
Or maybe you’re working at the office
Singing along with the radio
Maybe your dining at a five star
Or feeding orphans in the Myanmar,
Anywhere and everywhere that you are

Whatever you do
It all matters
So do what you do
Don't ever forget

To do everything you do
To the glory of the One who made you,
'Cause He made you
To do
Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
And tell the story of grace

As you do everything you do
To the glory of the One who made you,
'Cause He made you
To do
Every little thing that you do
To bring a smile to His face
And tell the story of grace
With every move that you make
And every little thing you do

In every little thing you do
In every little thing you do”

-Steven Curtis Chapman

By the end of the song, I was grinning ear to ear with tears streaming down my face. I had parked in the pharmacy parking lot and had reached back to M’s car seat and found his hand. He was asleep.

“I heard you, Lord. Thank you. Amen.”

I was going to shop for Pedialyte and ear infection medication like the daughter of God I was. And I did. Smiled too. 

Gaby Girl

  Content and full, sleeping by my feet. So sure of her place in our home. No longer anxious or afraid. Now assertive and loving. 
  Her nose is wet and cold and twitches slightly when she hears the leaves rustle past our window. Back legs stretched out in front of her. Tail relaxed. Her moppy, shaggy, blonde head rests on her front paws. Ears hang at her sides. Her eyes are barely visible under blonde bangs - she needs a fur-cut. 
  My toes are tucked under her back - so warm. I slip one foot out from under her and stroke her back. She rolls slightly back, exposing her belly, inviting me. Her belly is exquisitely soft,  like velvet, and warm. We both enjoy the belly rub for a few moments. 
  Slowly she returns to her original laying position, and I lean back in my chair. Coffee brews in the kitchen and the aroma beckons me. I untuck my other foot from beneath her and stand up. 
  She looks up, momentarily and watches me walk to the kitchen. But she does not stir, does not rise, does not whine She knows I will return, coffee in hand, to tuck my toes back in. She knows.