where waves grow sweet

Sing and make music in your heart to the Lord, always giving thanks to God the Father for everything, in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ. Ephesians 5:19-20

My mom asked me today to take a photo of a quilt made by a friend for my sister’s almost-born baby, and email it to another friend. The quilt was made beautifully which, I think, can be gathered by the photo. What you wouldn’t know by simply looking at a representation of it, though, is that it is soft like a fluffy lamb – an unreal, indulgent softness that makes me want to wrap it all around me and smother my skin with it. Seriously, this thing has a beauty that goes beyond nice stitching and patchwork. It is a rectangle of love and goodness. But since gmail doesn’t allow me to attach textures and emotions, the picture – which represents so little of the whole – had to suffice.

Peace by candlelight

I’m sitting here so peacefully in front of my computer and candles, next to the keyboard I had the pleasure of playing again tonight. I want to share with you the satisfaction and peace and goodness inside… this feeling that everything is okay, that God is good no matter how things look, that these things we fixate on aren’t what we make of them, that we serve a big wonderful God who conquered every dark and exasperating thing. But all I have are words and they represent so little of the whole.

I was introspective today. Seeking and searching my heart and my mind and the Spirit of God. Trying so hard to figure things out, as I tend to do. But at some point in the day I just decided to be thankful. Thankful for the very things I’m fixated on, the ones that frustrate me about myself, the things that don’t look good or that feel out of control. Thankful for a God who exists outside of these things, who inhabits my very body, who has made a way for peace despite any reason to think otherwise.

Something happened in this process. My heavy load fell off, maybe without me noticing, and my heart lifted. The things that didn’t have a place seemed to find one. Or maybe they just didn’t matter so much anymore. My body stopped whining, and is at this moment singing sweetly, blessing me with its contentment. I want to give this to you and save some for me; to bottle it up like the good dreams captured by the Big Friendly Giant in Roald Dahl’s children’s book. But all I can give is a prayer that we can learn to live in the trust and gratitude so befitting our position as children of a very loving Father.