Wow. What a week.
Right now it is Saturday evening and for Sunday I am going to rest by taking a little short road trip to a recently found favorite place. I think I’ll sit in the shade of the Mulberry trees next to the creek and see if I can hear Jesus speaking in the babbling water He knew would be running past at that moment before water was even created. I think I’ll put a hand on a tree as I sometimes do and apologize (again) for one of its cousins being used as the death-place of the One who spoke it into existence. I think I’ll tell it I secretly long for the day when I can hear its throat opened up to give glory to God. I think I’ll catch a butterfly and ask it what it is like to not be under a curse, to not need a Redeemer, to be perfect and still innocent. I’ll probably ask the Ragweed to leave me alone a while.
This past week, I’ve been honest. Those places I went are where I’ve been this week myself. This is more of a personal journal, you see. A long time ago God developed in me the desire to share much of what He and I go through with each other and talk to each other about. I hope I’ve not sounded pretentious or leading or snobbish or something else. But I’m honestly not worried about it. He did most of the work. Blame Him.
Here’s a present for you. Will you gift Him back in worship for a few minutes?