We worship

by arianne

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It was a beautiful morning.  Sleeping in, children happy, mama honored.

Husband and kids readying cards and presents, taking longer than expected.  He comes into the room to tell me my first born is having a hard morning.

It’s Mother’s Day, and it’s only begun, how could he be having a hard day already?

I say a quick prayer for my first born as they all walk into the bedroom, giving me some love in an envelope.  I delicately take out the card.   They’ve given me a card from Mabel.

I look at my first born, thinking of my last born, see him well up, and know.

He misses her too.

With tearful nodding he confirms.

I search for the right words, fighting my own tears, feeling ill-equipped.  I promise we can go to the beach to relax and to remember and to have fun.  I tell him it’s ok to miss her.

Little lips quiver.

“I just wanted a sister so bad, and I finally got one and she had to leave us.”

We hug as I offer him the chance to take the little bit of Mabel we have here and keep it by his bedside.  He perks up at the thought, is comforted by the idea of being a little bit closer to her, even if it’s just closer in his heart.  Ashes are just ashes, but somehow God touches us each time we look at them.  Shows us new life, new growth, even through those ashes.


Sometimes we think it’s our job, or that we deserve, to understand God.  We think if we can just wrap our minds around His plan, if we can just understand, if we can just make sense, we’ll feel better.

But our birthright, what we were created for, isn’t to understand.

Our birthright is to worship.

We are made in His image, not Him in ours, and whether we like it or not we can’t just walk away from that.  He’s always there.  In our times of worship and in our times of silence…

waiting for us like the prodigal children we are, covering our filthy bodies with the most precious of coverings.  A Jesus-cloak.

And he kisses us and hugs us and celebrates our return.  We are so cherished, even moreso, when we return Home.  Once we are settled back into His arms, the molding begins.  It’s painful, the winnowing, and in a world that wants conformity, this flesh feels tight and ill-fitting. It bunches and itches and burns.  While we wait in this skin, finally giving in to the fact that the skin will never fit quite right, we worship.

We worship.



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