Whew, it's late at night, and I'm wondering where on earth this day went. I spent much of the day in Chapel Hill with Janie, watching her rehab, asking questions, talking, laughing, trying to help. And then I rushed back here in the late afternoon to try to tackle a bit of laundry, clean up, figure out dinner, make the obligatory Target run, and provide some homework "encouragement" (always a delightful way to spend the evening). Suddenly it's nearly 11 p.m., and the day is gone. Did I really try to live each moment, Lord? Live each moment of this never-to-be-repeated day with gratitude for the profound and unearned gift of God's grace and love?
If there is one thing I have learned these past four weeks, it is that life is precious and sometimes precarious, and we must not take even it's simplest treasures for granted. The sun rose again--His mercies are new every morning, and He's given me another opportunity to share His love. Our sweet old dog, Moses, rests at my feet--He will never leave us or forsake us, and His love is reflected even in the gift of His creatures. A hot shower to start the day, a hot mug of tea to savor, a crimson cardinal flying and a hawk crying, a lunch to share with my sister and daughter--His grace is like a multi-faceted diamond for it shines into our lives in so many different ways and forms and places. All undeserved. All simply the grace of our God who loves us.
As I sit on our sofa in our comfortable home, our dog at our feet, my children in bed (and my husband with Janie at the hospital), I think of the other folks I have seen up there at rehab. The quiet old man with a white beard who has two prosthetics on his lower legs. Or the funny fellow who reminds me a bit of Hulk Hogan with his flowing blond hair--he's in a wheel chair and full of life while chatting animatedly with the therapists during rehab. Or the beautiful young African-American girl in the wheelchair that I saw today with her vibrant smile and tracheotomy. Or the older woman with long, gray hair and the staring sad eyes.
Who are they Lord? Do they have families who come to see them? Do they have hope in You, Father? Do they know of Your love? Have I shown them? Forgive me for being so focused on my own daughter that I miss the pain--and Your people, Your children--all around me. I sit here and feel such shame and sorrow that I have not loved as You have loved. I have not loved the "least of these." Help me to love, Lord. Help me to share Your love.
Thank You that You loved each of us as if we were Your precious child in rehab. As if we were the only one, and we were the apple of Your eye. Because we are. You love us each individually, unconditionally, crazily, completely. And You love each of us that way. There is not one thing we can do that would make You love us more... and there is not one thing we could do that would make You love us less. That is incredible--our love can be so conditional, but Your's is not.
"God is love" isn't a cliche. It's a statement of truth. Of fact. Of the reality that He made love; He encompasses love; and His very nature is love. His love prompts His every action; His love provided both a cradle and a cross, a Son and a Savior. And there is no place that we can run, no where we can hide, where His love will not be there too.
Might we bask in that love... and then out of gratitude, out of joy, out of the wondrous knowledge that we are so incredibly, graciously loved, share that love with others. With the least. With the lost. With the lonely. With the lowly.
For God so loved the... old man in rehab... the young woman in rehab... the Hulk Hogan in rehab... the nurses and therapists in rehab... that He gave His only beloved Son...
Help us to live in Your love, Lord, and help us to share it with the world You died to save. To God be the glory.
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