My Heavenly Father is the best friend anyone could ask for. Itís hard to describe him in words worth speaking. But Iíll try.
He is always with me. We do everything together. One morning we got up early right before daylight broke the darkness of the cold night. We watched the sky as it melted from the deepest of blacks to a brilliant orange brighter than a raging fire. Slowly the sun peaked over the skyline, showing itís magnificent colors and power. We could feel itís warm embrace surrounding us like a gentle hug from friend that held on long enough to feel their heart beating against mine. Time stood still for a few minutes. We didnít rush. We didnít speak. We just stood. We waited there a while just pretending that we had all day to stand and watch. Unfortunately, reality quickly came and shook us out of our daydream with a violent jerk.
There are many days like this with him. Days that seem too perfect to even be written in a fairytale. He brings me joy. He brings me a life so full of meaning itís beyond words. Imagine Thanksgiving dinner. You are surrounded by a number of loved ones. You can feel the love hanging in the air as conversations dance around the room. Then you all sit down to a feast of home cooked food. You can smell the sweet brown sugar that is lightly glazed over the turkey. You start to eat. And you keep eating. Then out comes desert. The sweet pumpkin pie that melts in your mouth. You eat more. And you keep eating. You are so full that you are even in pain. That is the kind of life he gives. A life that is filled with purpose. He has so much planned for me that sometimes it feels like too much. And sometimes it hurts. But not because he has left me to defend myself against the Devil. And not because my purpose is gone. It hurts because all I want is to be with him, seeing him face to face. I hurt from waiting. But luckily, he is the type of friend who doesnít leave when the pain comes. He doesnít back down on his promise to never leave me. He stays even on those really tough days when nothing goes right and everyone seems to turn and run. You know, those dark, dreary afternoons when even the sun decides it should hide from me. He shows up with a radiant smile thatís brighter than the sun and whispers, ďI still care. Give me your burdens. Iíll make them light.Ē, gently in my ear. Sometimes I feel like I canít really hear him. Like he really isnít there. Just like the cool breezes on a warm summer nights that just tousles my hair and then vanish without a trace. But in my doubt, he isnít afraid to be bold. Not with a prideful boldness that makes me feel like less of a person. But a boldness that makes me feel like I can be bold too. He builds me up. And never tries to tear me down afterwards.
He is never afraid to show his love for me. His unconditional, undying love for me, his daughter, that even my sins canít take away. This love is not like a high school crush. Itís not the kind of love that comes in and leaves you with a bitter taste in your mouth. Itís the kind of love that lasts. A deep, endless love that sinks into your soul and doesnít ever leave. It satisfies you like cold glass of ice water bursting into your mouth on a sizzling summer day. Or like the smell of fresh chocolate chip cookies coming out the oven. It satisfies. Yet you are always left wanting more.
Many might not know this, but God is also a romantic. He likes to send me surprise rain showers that make me feel like a child again. He orchestrates symphonies of birds chirping and leaves brushing specially for me alone to hear. And he always brings flowers. He lets small, feathery snowflakes graze my cheek with a smooth and graceful kiss. He loves to curl up in a blanket as I read his love notes he wrote in the Bible for me to find. There are enough to last me a lifetime.
God is also a doctor. He has never seen a heart he canít mend. Just like on that one warm and clear evening this past summer. I was sitting on a cold, lonely bench just praying. And crying. They were the kind of tears that felt like they were burning little rivers down my cheeks. With every tear, my heart sank further into the pit of my stomach. I needed to clear my head, which was racing in all directions, at frightening speeds. My parents hadnít talked to me in months because I was too fanatical about God. Rent was due and I had almost nothing left even though I worked two jobs. My friends were nowhere to be found. But he was still there. He didnít leave. He raised my eyes to the Heavens. The moon was shining brighter than Iíve ever seen and the stars seemed to dance across the sky in a passionate dance. I could smell that crisp smell of night. Out of nowhere, someone began to sing the most beautiful song Iíve ever heard. It was in Italian and was full of so much romance. I never saw who was singing but I knew that the song was for me. But then the wind blew a sweet, enticing breeze that seemed to entwine me. The Creator of the Universe saw me in my broken moment. He seeís me in all my broken moments. And he shows up. He cries tears of sorrow with me. You know, those days where your heart has been stepped on. By stilettos. Multiple times. And those days where the first step out of bed feels like competing in an Iron Man competition, which you havenít trained for. On those days, he shows up with all his strength and tenderly carries me through the day. He has the power to end the world at any given moment. And he carries me as a mother would her newborn child. He mercifully picks up the pieces of my smashed heart and sews it back together with his own hands. He places each piece it is place and sews with compassion. The crazy part is, he doesnít ask for anything in return except for my sutured heart. And that sounds easy enough. Except for the times Iím running away from him because of the mess Iíve gotten myself into. Some days I get the dangerous idea that I can make decisions on my own. And things usually end up in complete disarray. I run because I so quickly forget the amazing grace he has. I run to escape because Iím too much of a coward to face God. And usually in the middle of me running he places his hand on my shoulder, letting it gently weigh me down. All he says in a calm, warm voice that stirs the air around me is, ďwhere are you going? Iím still right here. I can fix all that you did. Just give me your heart.Ē Time and time again he does this. He never gives up. His persistence is breathtaking. And he frequently does take my breath away.
Throughout my life, I have tried to find all these characteristics in an earthly person. But Iíve realized that sinful people cannot fit in the place of a holy and perfect God. He is my Father. My Brother. My Friend. My Guardian. My Love.
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