Saturday, 2 February 2013

Of Seven Blessings

I love the cold. Perhaps it is because I was born into it, but who knows.
Wind bites, pure cold is an invigorating and a beautiful thing, and I have something to share.

Psalm 84 –  This Psalm's second verse speaks of longing, even fainting for the courts of God, and if you have ever in your life ached for someone or someplace, whether in body or spirit, you might have some idea. His place will be so lovely! How wonderful to ache for God's dwelling place; it is an ache worth feeling, worth living with.

Passes – dominus est maximus bonus! I passed a competition level last week; God is so very good to me, and I am so thankful I can give my all for Him in everything I do, even if it be a competition.

Solitude – Yes, I do enjoy being around people, bu I love a good solitude. Times like those mean meditation on the word and conversation with my Heavenly Father.

The Cold – Perhaps it is simply me in Minnesota, but after a weekend of five degree or below zero weather, I was in awe. I have never experienced such an appreciation of such pure cold. Not wind, not snow, but still, silent, cold.

Affirmation – Recently, friends and acquaintances have been extremely encouraging and affirming, and God has been blessing me tremendously. I do not deserve it, but He is lavishly generous despite all that.

Confrontation – I am pretty nasty. No, not pretty; ugly nasty. I judge people too often, and (also too often) I have little no patience with people, but for some reason, God always chooses to give me grace. Suddenly the fact that one person has their quirks and another their obsessions is not a nagging problem, but that specifically particular element to his or her character. I slip: All the time

But God.

Those two words, but God, repeatedly remind me that he confronts me (through others as well) to mold and refine me, even though I slip quite too often. It is always time for dross removal!

Watching the Sun Rise – Brilliant indeed: God is the master painter. Rising before the sun is sometimes hard, especially in the winter, when all is cold, quiet, dark, and seemingly dead. Before long the black turns to blue, and slowly but determinedly yawns into gray, which does not remain for any special length but becomes a spring board or palette of color in the sky once the sun creeps up from the beyond. Each is akin to a fingerprint; no two are alike.

Thanks for reading!

No comments:

Post a Comment