Tag Archives: God

A Conversation Between Seattle & Mississippi

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I have to sing a song to spell MISSISSIPPI correctly.  Just seems like there are a few too many “S’s” in there, doesn’t it?   But, I’m sure it is a beautiful state.  And anyway, I received a facebook message from a friend who lives there a few weeks ago.

It was great to hear from a friend I hadn’t communicated with in a while.  Isn’t Facebook great?  Ahhh, cheers to you, facebook people!

But, it started an ongoing conversation that has been one of the more rewarding and fascinating conversations that I have had in a long while.   One that I think is too valuable to keep to ourselves.

And so, with her permission, I have decided to let you over-hear our conversation.  Now, you should know from the beginning, that we don’t agree on a few things.   And I think that will become obvious as you read.  But, you should also know that we DO agree on a great deal.  Not the least of which is our love of God, our love of people and our commitment to friendship.

You should also know that though we have different perspectives on some things, I highly regard and respect her both as a person and a thinker.  And whether you agree with my perspective or hers or neither, I hope that you respect our friendship as well.

And lastly, you should know that the conversation you are about to listen in on, is a dialogue in process.  Though I can’t totally speak for her, I can say that God is continually reforming my thoughts on these areas and that where I am today may evolve by tomorrow.  And in that way, you are not reading our hard and fast thoughts, but our attempts to discover what we believe out loud, in conversation, with each other.  It is more vulnerable that way, but more rewarding, I think.

And so, I will post our comments back and forth to each other over the next few days.  “Letters from Seattle” will represent me.   “Letter from Mississippi” will represent her.   And it is our prayer that no matter where you come out on these issues, that it would cause you to think, to stretch, to grow, and to maybe start your own conversation.  Or in some way join into ours by leaving a respectful comment here.

Maybe the time for distasteful arguments is done and the time for constructive and respectful conversations is finally here.   God, may it be so.

To have the proper context, however, you must have read an earlier blog I wrote several months back.  And so I have re-posted it below.  I will follow with the first “Letter from Mississippi” in a few days.

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Mega-Pastors can be Mega-Wrong

I think i’ve discovered why the church can too often be found on the wrong side of major issues. In fact, how it can many times be found on the exact opposite side of even God on major issues . . . Church Leaders.

I drove home from the gay bath house last week [see my previous blogs about Gay Bathhouse] and came home to a startling news story. Well, it was actually just a news teaser for the 11-o’clock news that night during a commercial break during “The Office.” But, nonetheless, it startled me.

“Mega Church Pastor Protests High School Students.”

Headlines like that tend to catch my eye. So, i tuned into the local Seattle newschannel website to read up on what it was all about–after “The Office” was over, obviously.

The basic story was that each year, high schools in my area (and probably elsewhere) celebrate a day called “day of silence.” It is an event sponsored by the “gay, straight alliance” that encourages students to not talk all day in order to bring awareness to and solidarity with potentially gay students among them that are treated poorly, made fun of and often don’t have a credible voice.

A local mega-church pastor, who lived in the community of one such high school, decided to organize a protest of the event. So, in front of many news cameras, he called for 1,000 members of his church and other Christians to come down and picket and protest outside of the school for the whole day, chanting their anti-gay views and “correcting” the sin of a few through the personalized and compassionate forum of a billboard sign.

Now, in one sense, i realize that “day of silence” probably has a pro-gay agenda to it. But, as i read the article, i couldn’t help but wonder, “what is so wrong about not wanting gay students to be made fun of, physically abused or emotionally taunted?” In that regard, as a follower of Christ, i whole heartedly agree with the sentiment of the day. And on any level, what does picketing a bunch of high schoolers really accomplish?

My problem was i had just come home from sitting inside a very promiscous gay bath house in Seattle, where i had been sitting with my friend Rick handing out condoms and information to everyone who walked in. We didn’t personally know any of the guys that came in that night. We didn’t have any signs. We weren’t chanting anything. We simply handed out latex.

And as i sat at home reading the news story, the dichotomy of events perplexed me. On the one hand there was a mega church pastor that many people know, calling for Christians to protest teenagers attempting to humanize homosexual people that are often treated otherwise. And on the other hand, there was an everyday Christian that nobody knows, living with AIDS, sitting in a place most don’t know about and would never want to go to, handing out medical prevention (though not perfect) to oppressed adult addicts.

Both men agree homosexuality is not God’s ideal. The issue isn’t the morality of the lifestyle, but of the morality of our response. And because morality is a fuzzy term, let me define it this way. At issue is not whether Jesus approves of homosexuality as God’s ideal, but how Jesus would respond to people that are homosexual.

And in this case, the Mega-Pastor is Mega-WRONG. What the MP (mega-pastor) fails to realize is that protest without relationship is simply verbal violence. What the MP doesn’t understand is that compassion for people who don’t agree with you is “loving your neighbor as yourself.” What the MP has mistakenly accepted is that if you yell loud enough Jesus’ voice will be heard, when Jesus himself yells only at the religious pharisees and whispers grace to the sinner.

And what this reminds me is that, apparently, you can have everything RIGHT in your theology, but not be RIGHT. You can worship God in all the RIGHT ways, but not be RIGHT.

And as far as i can tell, Jesus never organized a protest of anything (unless you count his little tirade against the religious leaders in the temple), he simply went and ate and spent time with people who’s lives missed the mark of God’s ideal, calling them to something more fulfilling. He loved them to “abundant life.” There was no place for protest.

And so, Rick sits in Seattle at a gay bath house. No signs. No chants. He hopes that he is making a difference. Is a condom the answer to the problem? No. The problem is much more complex that what simple latex can fix. There are emotional, spiritual and mental issues that must be addressed. A holistic answer is needed.

But in the vaccuum of that answer, it is the only thing Rick knows to do. And so he does it.

It makes me wish that when people thought of Christians they thought of people like Rick rather than the blow hards that get all the news headlines like our local mega-pastor last week.

It makes me think that if Jesus were here today, he’d probably look more like the average guy, Rick, than the news bite mega-pastor any way.

I often ridicule Christians, mostly because we are such an easy target. But, i really don’t think all Christians are bad. I am one. Or that church is bad. I’m a part of one.

But, what scares me is that there is a vocal minority giving my faith a bad name. No, not my faith, my God. People hear words like they did last week and think that they are God’s sentiment or God’s words. And they never have been. The mega-pastor is simply wrong.

So, here is to you, out-spoken mega-church pastor. I’m pleading with you. Please examine your response to people with the life of Jesus before you speak and act in ways that shame Him and us.

I’ll even keep using the name “Christian,” if you’ll start acting like one.

Snot & Booger Theology

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I pick my nose.

Ok, there, I said it.  But what are you supposed to do when there’s a big booger just chillin’ up there restricting all the oxygen from getting to your brain?  I mean, maybe I do it because the socially respectable part of my mind is just oxygen deprived.  It’s just plain survival!

Now, i don’t eat it.  I don’t wipe it on my pants or stick it under a desk or anything.  But if we’re going to just be straight up honest, I’ve been known to pull debris out my nasal cavity.  Sometimes some fairly large and impressive debris.

But, I do have boundaries.  I’ll touch all my own snot (and then shake your hand . . . think about that), but in no way do I want to have personal contact with the mucous in your nose.  That would just be disgusting.

So, I was reading a st97807460377822ory to my daughter the other night when something wet dripped on the book.  It was a very deep and intellectual book entitled, “That’s Not My Puppy” and so naturally I was concerned.  When I looked up, I saw my 10-month-old daughter rubbing her face as a river of clear snot ran out her nose, down her chin and fell softly, pooling up on the book page.

Now, my first instinct is to be a little grossed out.  For instance, should you come over to my house and blow your nose all over a book that I’m reading to you, I’d probably be a little offended (because we do have kleenex available-with lotion to prevent chaffing), and I’d likely show you the outside of my front door (however, you would get to take the book home with you).  There are certain aspects of your life that I’m really comfortable just leaving to your care and that I’d rather not be invited to.

And yet, as absolutely gross as I find another person’s snot, there is something about my relationship with my daughter that is causing me to suspend all the normal things I would avoid participating in with any other person.  There is an element of messiness, filth and indecency that I find myself willing to engage in with Paytyn, sometimes without even a second thought . . .

So, I did that night what had to be done.  My daughter needed her nose wiped.  And because she hates the little booger-sucker thing and won’t hold still long enough for me to use it.  And since there was very little supplies at hand.  I took my hand and started to pull the snot out of her nose with my bare fingers.  For several minutes I pulled gobs of clear goo out of her soft, little nose.  It was like excavating a pudding container with your fingers.  Turns out, though, it’s more effective than that stupid aspirator anyway.

Gross?  Maybe.  But, since I had left her burp rag downstairs and was too lazy to walk back down and get it, I did what any good dad would do and wiped it on my pant leg!  Now, I don’t wipe my own snot there, but apparently that’s where I’m willing to showcase Paytyn’s.  It’s as if being a dad is turning me into some sort of weird savage caveman.   I pull snot out of noses and wipe it on my leg.   I wipe amazingly foul-smelling poop off the butt of another human being.   I’ve been thrown up on more times than I can remember (the worst of which is always when I’m not wearing a shirt).   And yet, I keep reading stories, changing diapers, and take every moment I can to hold my daughter, knowing that all the messiness is sure to come again.

And so as I layed her down to sleep that night and headed downstairs to put my snot-crusted jeans in the wash, I thought about what I’ve become . . .

I’ve become a lover.  I’ve become a dad.  I’ve become a fan.  And no matter what kind of dirt and grime and disgusting adventures I’m pulled into, I’m willing to go (even though it isn’t my preference) because I am so totally in love with this little girl.  I’m willing to get as dirty as it takes to have a relationship with her.

Have you ever thought of God like that?  Have you ever thought of the mud and the dirt and the filth that we pull him into?  Have you ever thought of the snot and the poo that we expose Him to?  The gossip.  The messy break-ups.  The wars.  The greed.  The dishonesty.  The betrayals.  The hypocrisy.  The self-centeredness.  The hatred.

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And what if in the midst of all this vulgarity, God is not standing on the outside of the earth, keeping Himself clean and tidy while condemning us with displeasure.   But, what if where you find God is right here in the middle of the mud, knee deep in the poo, wiping snot all over his pants.   What if God desires so much better of us, and yet is willing to do whatever takes–to get as dirty as necessary–to have a relationship with you.   With me.

What if God is willing to go to any extreme to help us wipe our nose?

One of my favorite verses these days is Romans 5:7-8.  It is here that Paul talks about who God has become because of us:   “Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die.  But God demonstrates his love for us in this:  while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

While we were still sinners . . . I like that.

It reminds me that no matter how cultured and religious I think I am, I’m right down in the mud with everyone else.  It reminds me that no matter how dirty I get, God’s first thought of me is always love and not condemnation.  It reminds me that even when I think I’m too messed up and broken to be useful or desired by anyone, let alone God, that he is much closer than I realize.  It reminds me that He won’t wait until I get all cleaned-up to “demonstrate” or “prove” His love for me, but that in some strange fatherly way, He proves it by loving me in the mud.

And it reminds me that God will go to any length to clean me up, even if it means getting dirt, snot or even blood all over his clothes.

And so may you remember, whenever you come across these words, that your Dad is not too distant to know your struggles.  He is not too stodgy to wipe your nose.  He is willing to take steps to you long before you take steps to Him.

I just hope Paytyn grows up knowing the same thing.

Who’s fault is it anyway?

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If God knew from all eternity that I was going to finally write in my blog again today, could I have chosen not to?

Well, for the past three months, whether God knew in advance or not, it appears that I have chosen not to.  Why?  Well, maybe because the summer has just been totally busy.  Maybe because every time I thought about it, I also immediately thought of all the work that was more pressing.  Maybe because I just didn’t exercise the discipline needed to sit down and write.

Or maybe, God already knew I wouldn’t and so it wasn’t really up to me.  I mean, if he wrote (or even just knows) the entire script in advance and He’s God, then I can’t change the script, right?  At least with this option none of the responsibility is mine.

And so, I humbly submit that my absence from this blog is God’s fault and not mine.  Please direct all complaints to the Boss…

P.S.  I don’t really believe any of this.  But, i will write again soon.

http://www.opentheism.info

Living Imitation

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I honestly don’t like imitations. Every morning for breakfast, i have two eggo waffles and a cup of coffee. Pretty healthy, right? Well, i did recently switch to low-fat nutri-grain waffles. But, as much as i love this breakfast, just try and switch out my eggos for some cheap store brand version and i’ll flip out. They just don’t taste the same.

lucky_charmsI didn’t always eat that for breakfast, though. I remember being a little kid and only wanting to eat Lucky Charms! Remember those? I’d still buy them today if i didn’t look like such a kid when the cashier rings them up. Although, i am having a baby soon…maybe i can sneak them in that way! The problem was my mom was cheap. She didn’t like paying the price of Lucky Charms. So instead she would come home with some Malt-o-meal version of them like “Treasure Marshmellows.” But, you know as well as me that they weren’t quite the same.

I guess that is why when i came across Ephesians 5:1 the other day it kinda bothered me. I’ve read it a hundred times before, but only this time did i realize that i didn’t really like it. It says, “Therefore, be imitators of God…” And if there is anything that i don’t want to be it is a cheap imitation!

I suppose i feel like there is a lot of that out there already, you know? People pretending to be one thing. Imposters. Phonies. Knock-offs. Especially Christians. Doesn’t it seem like every time you turn around you meet someone that is only a cheap imposter of who Jesus was and is? In fact, i am embarrassed to identify myself as a christian most of the time because of all the “imitators” out there.

And yet, Ephesians 5:1 is clearly calling us to be “imitators of God.”

So, i looked in the mirror several weeks ago. And instead of seeing my amazingly handsome, young face looking back, for the briefest of moments, i saw my dad peering back at me. It was strange. It was only for a second, but i could have sworn i saw his face in the mirror i was looking into. And it occurred to me, i am becoming like my dad. In fact, i’ve been a little worried about this before. My hair is turning grey in spots. My abs are reverting from their chiseled beauty to the famous Loyd belly. But, it isn’t just physical. I was talking the other day and i caught myself saying something that my dad always used to say to me growing up. I was sitting in my office when it dawned on me that i have the same profession (if you wanna call it that) as my dad. I took a look around my office and realized my collection of books is catching up to his. But, it isn’t just that either. I was explaining some theology the other day and realized that i approach a lot of my critical thinking the way my dad does. I was counseling someone and noticed i was offering advice my dad has offered to me. In short, i am starting to look, think, act, and enjoy things that are the same as my dad.

Wow! I have tried many times to not be like my dad. Not that he is a bad guy (he is actually a phenomenal man), but because i have wanted to be my own. And yet, whether i want it or not, i have spent so much time with him and have been so influenced by his guidance in my life that i am starting to look like him. In fact, the other day, somebody came up to me and said. “i see a lot of your dad in you.”

I wonder if this is what Paul meant in Ephesians 5:1. What if he didn’t mean a cheap imitation at all? What if he meant that we are to be so absorbed in the relationship with our Creator that we would find ourselves simply thinking and loving and feeling and acting like Him? As if our DNA was being rewritten with His. What if He wasn’t calling for imposters, but for children who grow up with the imprint of their dad.

And so, i now want to be an “imitator.” I want my life to be shadowed by the Divine. I want my life to slowly start to mirror the image of God. I want people at the end of my days to say, “I saw a lot of his God in him.”

Living Imitation.

The God Who Cries…

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“Tears are a liquid process of lacrimation to clean and lubricate the eyes. The word lacrimation may also be used in a medical or literary sense to refer to crying. Strong emotions, such as sorrow or elation, may lead to crying.”
— Webster Dictionary

Until last week, my daughter, Paytyn, didn’t have the ability to make tears. She would cry and scream, but all without tears. In fact, apparently it takes about a month after birth for a baby’s tear ducts to form completely so that they can shed actual tears.

Before now, I don’t think I had ever thought about life without tears. I just assumed that we were born with that ability right from the beginning. But, when I picked Paytyn up from her crib the other day (she had woken up suddenly and was crying) I noticed what had been absent. Her eyes were wet. I was shocked and asked Tania what was wrong with her. It was then that I learned she was simply learning to make tears.

baby cryingI had heard her cry many times already. But, now for the first time I was seeing her cry. As I held her in my arms that day, I found myself sad. Sad that life eventually had to know tears. Sad that life, which started without even the ability to truly cry, would eventually know so much.

As I held Paytyn, I realized that she would cry many tears in her life. Over parents that just don’t understand. Over skinned knees and pinched fingers. Over cruel comments. Over broken promises. Over relationships with boys and friends and even God.

And how sad that one day she went to sleep without the ability to cry, and woke up (maybe from a nightmare) crying never to stop.

Did you know we cry for several reasons. Basal tears keep our eyes lubricated and functioning properly. Reflex tears are the ones we shed to clear our eyes of a sudden burst of dust or onion vapors. And then there are crying or weeping tears (the kind I saw on Paytyn) that are born of emotional stress, sadness or even gladness.

In fact, crying, emotional tears are so different from the other two that their chemical makeup is not even the same as the other two. There is an entirely different recipe for these tears that we know as crying.

I have cried many tears so far in life. And as I think back on those moments, it make me sad to think that Paytyn will also grow up and know this particular recipe of tears and sadness. No one it seems is immune from tears. Not even God.

John 11:35 says that when Jesus came and found that his close friend had died, he knew the tears of sadness.

In Matthew 23, Jesus goes to a hill and looks and laments over Jerusalem, the city he loves. And it is difficult to read his words written there without seeing the tears of the God who looks on.

In Luke 22, on the night before Jesus is killed, it is recorded that he prayed so hard his sweat fell to the ground like blood. One has wonder what other moisture fell from his eyes in those darkest moments.

In fact, many stories in the Bible are easily read with the perspective of a God who weeps over the dilemma and plight of mankind.

baby crying 2 And so, Jesus was born like Paytyn. And somewhere at about month one, he succumbed to the same humanity as she. And he cried. Maybe nothing is more human. Maybe nothing identifies with the human condition more than a God that would enter a world of tears and shed his own.

So, as I held Paytyn that day, I softly brushed her tears away from her face, knowing that I would do this many times in her life. Knowing, I suppose, that she may do the same for me. But as I did I was reminded of this simple verse that is a promise for a day when finally the tears will cease.

“He will wipe every tear from their eyes, and there will be no more death or sorrow or crying or pain. All these things are gone forever.”
(Revelation 21:4)

I suppose Paytyn will cry many tears in this life to come. And I will wipe away as many as I see. But, eventually, when time is done, One who is greater than I will come and he will pick her up and hold her and wipe away her tears forever.

The tears will be many. But they are numbered.

Ladybug Phobia

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I hope our daughter doesn’t develop a neurotic fear of ladybugs and dragonflies. If so, it will be my fault. Or, more appropriately, her mother’s fault.

I spent most of this past week getting Paytyn’s room ready for her. Not that i don’t enjoy hearing her turn over and grunt all night long right next to our bed while i’m trying to sleep, but i know that eventually (by age 9 or so) she’ll probably want to move out of mom and dad’s bedroom.

If you’ve been reading along, you know that I had actually planned on being ready with the room before she was born. But even though I had very carefully planned (with the help of the cool calendar the doctor has) the exact day of her birth, she decided to come about three weeks early. So, she is here, and i’m still fixing up the room.

We have a crib, dresser, changing table, diaper pail, laundry basket, bookshelf, lamps, toy box, rocking chair and stool, and any number of other baby things that go in a nursery. The problem is, prior to a baby, we had a lot of other stuff in there too. So, i spent the week pulling stuff out, throwing stuff away, moving stuff in my garage and then organizing the stuff that had to go in.

My big task this weekend was to put up stickers of ladybugs and purple dragonflies all over the room. I didn’t even know they made such a thing until i met them at BabysRUS. But, they fit the theme of the room–which includes a whole hive of ladybugs (do they live in hives?) and purple dragonflies. And so, i carefully pulled them off their backing and placed them in aesthetically strategic places all over the room.

It’s funny when i think that with painting, organizing, and decorating the room (to my wife’s exact specifications), i have probably spent more time on the ambiance of that room than any other in my house. Painting alone took quite a bit of time. But it was really the rest of the detail work that has taken most of the time. What style crib should we get her? What color wood should it be? Should we get the dresser that matches and a matching changing table? Or should we just get a matching dresser/changing table combo? What style rocker-glider chair should we get? Is it wide enough? Does the wood color match? Is the ladybug lamp a little overkill on bug deco? What color curtains will look nice? On and on and on and on . . .

And after hours and hours, i realized this weekend, we still aren’t done. There is still a few little touches to add to make the room perfect.

Now, at first i thought my wife had completely lost her mind. I mean, after all, it’s not like the baby can even see more than shadows of light and dark right now anyway. But, the more i helped prepare the room, the more i began to catch the fever as well. My eye for decoration has never been this “on fire.” Makes me wanna watch the home and garden channel or something.

And as i sat around drinking my coffee this morning (a good late monday start is perfect for any youth pastor’s week) thinking about these final touches i could add after work tonight, I realized why I am so caught up in it all. I don’t really love decorating and preparing a room. I really love my daughter.

I love my daughter. There is something so exciting about knowing she is gonna grow and change and move into this room and look around and (hopefully) love ladybugs. The idea that she is a part of our family is mind-blowing. The idea that her vision of home will be this room that I am preparing is exhilarating. And in the end, i’m not doing it because i enjoy it on its own, but because of my excitement in creating a small part of her place in our home. I’m excited about her.

It reminds me of Jesus’ words one time. He said, “In my Father’s house are many rooms. If it were not so, would i have told you that i go to prepare a place for you? And if i go and prepare a place for you, i will come again and will take you to myself, that where i am you may be also.”

What if heaven isn’t so much about our excitement to be there, but of God’s long-suffering excitement to be with us? What if God is preparing to come and live with us with the same intensity and joy that a new father takes in carefully planning each detail of his daughter’s new room? What if God is using every ounce of his unlimited creativity to prepare our part of his house?

You know, in that case, it might not really be about the room itself? Maybe the streets of gold and diamond goblets and all that God can create aren’t really the payoff. Maybe the beauty of heaven isn’t any of the stuff God actually dreams up as decoration, but in the desiring, preparing, anticipating love of a Father for his child to come home.

How crazy?! I always thought that it was us that would be the most excited to be in heaven. But, what if the person most excited about heaven is God? What if the greatest joy is His?

That i would spend solid xbox time placing ladybug stickers on a wall is to non-fathers out there, a little crazy. But, crazier still, that an Infinite Creator God would spend even half a second thinking about my eternal home is just plain unfathomable. And if that’s the case, then i don’t care what the decorations are, i only know i wanna be loved by someone like that. I most desperately want to be a part of that family.

I hope Paytyn grows up and feels that way too. And i hope she doesn’t develop a severe phobia of all things bugs.

Rock-a-bye-baby

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I don’t think that i have ever been this tired in my whole life.

Seriously.

Tania told me last night, “it’s like we are doing a youth all-nighter event, every single night.” And, i guess she is right. I mean, i had the expectation that things would be a little crazy in the beginning. I suppose i just didn’t totally realize how much effort and normal sleeping hours go into caring for a small human life. It really wears you out. Two nights in a row i got maybe one-hour of sleep each night. And since then it has been pretty sparse too.

But, as tired as i am, there are those moments at 3:00am just after Tania has fed Paytyn while i am rocking her to sleep that i look down and see her yawn and my heart melts. There are those moments when she starts fussing and crying and i pick her up and softly call her name and she settles right down, as if she just knows the sound of her dad’s voice. There was that time that she wouldn’t sleep and i held her and started swaying and singing a quiet david crowder song to her and she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

Moments that make sleep unnecessary, almost unwanted.

And it was in that last moment that i was reminded of a minor prophet in the Old Testament. Ok, possibly a little weird, but it seems i have been learning a lot about God and his relationship with me as i think about Paytyn and my relationship with her.

So anyway, in Zephaniah, God has this pecular thing that he tells His people. And what is most stark to me this morning is the context in which he says it. He says this strange thing right into the middle of what will be the darkest most painful moment of their history. A time of unsettling, crying, anguish.

What He says are the words of a dad to a child… “The LORD your God is with you, he is mighty to save. He will take great delight in you, He will quiet you with his love, he will rejoice over you with singing.”

It’s as if God were Paytyn’s dad, He would take her in His arms as she cries, look over her, tell her He is there and that everything will be ok. And then He would look at her, even as she cries and strangely feel this love and delight and joy in who she is. And as she cries He, her Creator, would stoop over her and softly sing her to sleep.

I wonder how often i see God this way. I wonder how often God sees me all messed up. Crying for no reason. Not understanding why the diaper needs to be changed. Not understanding that the shirt sometimes needs to be changed even if i was comfortably asleep at the time. Not appreciating all the sleepless night and worn out hours spent taking care of every need.

And what if, in that moment that i am most oblivious and most upset, that God picks me up and rather than me singing david crowder songs to Him, he takes more delight in singing one of His songs over me.

“Quiet…Daddy is here….everything is going to be ok…rock a bye baby…”

How is it that i can love such a small thing that only sleeps, poops, eats and cries? Though she will, there is not even yet the capacity for Paytyn to yet reciprocate my love. And yet, as i sing over her during these sleepless nights, i find that i am falling in love and that it matters not whether she loves me back because i will always love her.

I think i’m starting to get how God feels about us. Either that or i’m just sleep deprived and delirious.