My pastor is over in Cambodia, so our asst pastor preached on Wed night.
He shared how, throughout the day, his little 4 yr old granddaughter would come and find him, just to say "I love you Poppa."
It really made his day.
And an arrow shot right into my heart.
Quietly, the question was asked, "How often do you do that?"
And with my head hanging low, I said, "Sorry Papa."
Because I knew that the answer was "Not very often."
How is that possible?
Here my Papa had given me everything - including eternal life in a kingdom where the streets are made of gold.
And I blithely slither on my way, never taking the time to tell Him how much I love Him.
It's not as tho I don't talk to Him - every day I'm in the Word and learning and treasuring His often repeated sentiments of love and caring. Yet seldom do I think of telling Him what's in my heart.
Since Wednesday I am trying to remember that little thing that means a lot. I asked the Holy Spirit to remind me about it.
And what an amazing change it's made in my day-to-day doings.
He is the reason for the season - in whatever season I am in at the moment. We box that phrase up with the Christmas decorations and feel so righteous when we say it in December. But He is the reason all year long, not for some misaligned date we've chosen and said, "Here You go, Lord. This is when You were born."
I don't know about you, but I didn't even say Happy Birthday on the 25th of Dec.
We talked the talk. Where did the walk go?
Of course, it wasn't His birthday. But where does it say we can't tell Him "I love You" because it's not Dec 25th?
And where did all the "Peace on earth, good will to men," and "hosanna in the highest" go to?
I want to unpack all those Christmas boxes and praise Him with love every day. I don't want my heart to get packed away with those boxes and forget He is the reason for my heart beating. I want Him to hear it, many times a day, from my heart remembering and being grateful and thanking Him for the roof over my head and the pillow I put said head down on to rest.
How hard is it to say those three words, anyway?
We know how it makes a difference in our own lives - how nice it is to hear, even a hurried "love you," as someone goes out the door on an errand.
How much more it must mean to the One Who died for the air we breathe and the food we put in our mouths( after a hurried "thanks for the chow" prayer that can quickly get so routine we don't even hear ourselves say it anymore.)
And all this after I chose "love:" for my one word this year.
Already it's an abysmal failure.
So, Papa, just for the books, I. Love. You.
Forever and and ever and ever and ever.