It was the only day I brought two paper bags to school.
One full. For lunch. A PB&J sandwich (grape jelly – is there anything else?) and Doritos (Nacho cheese. Cool Ranch hadn’t been invented.)
And one empty. For the back of my chair. With my name on it. A piece of tape holding it.
There’s no part of what happens today about which God is not already aware. We will know about it eventually. He knows about it already. All of it.
That makes trust in him for the day well-placed trust. Understanding becomes less important when things like a day are placed in the hands of one for whom the unknown is a foreign concept.
He knows.
What?
Everything.
He’s above.
What?
Everything.
Today. Don’t be afraid. Empty your worry. Let what you hope is true prove Himself. Again.
He will.
Our lives are in his hands, and he keeps our feet from stumbling. – Psalm 66:9
I almost walked past it.
But couldn’t.
Only two other things frustrate me more. And I can’t remember what they are.
I had to fix it.
It was unmistakable.
I noticed it in between the Garland Street Garage and the Union.
Oh my god. Help me.
Oh my. God, help me.
Our choice.
Thinking about those struggling to have children. I’m guessing this weekend is hard. Please know you’re seen. We want to help, not hurt. Our words are often awkward and fall short, so we’re just gonna do our best to get in your corner and let you know we’re with you. Moms matter. You do, too.
Thinking about single parents. Handed situations you didn’t cause or could’ve imagined, and yet every day you put on your cape and pull a double. To each of you, the job you do speaks louder than you realize. Strength and joy. May God give you both this weekend.
Thinking about two-parent homes. Thanks for your commitment. The whole lovely mess. Care, chaos, frustration, fun, fights, routine, and compromise. All while not being exactly sure of what we’re doing. Let’s believe the proof’s in the long-haul. It’s worth it.
I think we know it, but it’s good to hear it again. Living isn’t Instagram. This whole life thing is rarely as perfect as we’d like it to be. Strike that. It’s never that way.
But real love, the kind that keeps trying, or carries the load, or walks on, that kind of love, goes farther and lasts longer than any imperfection.
Come on over for a visit. And then as you’re getting ready to leave, look to the right. Next to the front door.
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