Dear Heavenly Father,
Our Father in Heaven. Our Father. The Father of us, your bride. Father, down-on-your-knees, giving horsey-back rides, intimately involved with us, Immanuel. You love me, Father. You love me, God. And I thank you for that.
You love me through all of who I am. And, maybe more to the point, the all-that-I-am-not that clutters things up. To be honest, God, I don't have a really firm grasp on who I am these days. I'd like to see myself a little clearer, bring myself into sharp focus.
Or, much more better (this being said in a rough, British accent), I would love to know that you see me. That's why I'm doing all this you know. All this living and stuff. I think. I hope. Like I said, I'm loosing track of myself a little these days.
But no matter, let us take some time to redirect that heart of ours.
Father, Daddy, thank you for... little things. For details, Father. Do you care about these things? I have to believe that you do. After all, you are the same God who created the sub-atomic particle, right? And the little burst of emotion that comes on us in moments. Like a wave at an airport or seeing how a gift is wrapped.
So I have to believe that you do. (I will also share with you that I think I would go crazy if I feel that these little things could not be honored, if you and us all had better things to do with our time.)
Mmm. But don't you make a fantastic big picture as well? How beautiful your stars are, Father. I do love them so. (I'm tempted to ask that you allow me to see them better somehow, but I will instead turn my thoughts to how you have shown your love to me on nights where they all blaze out in front of me! Where it feels that the weight of their glory, their song could crush me! could pull you in.) What grace you show me Father, with your love song, with this planet, with human interaction, with a well-crafted television show or a... scent in the air and the feel of it all. You love me, God. That's painted everywhere, plain to see.
Ah, but am I going numb? This would be sad to see, wouldn't it, God? Sad for my ears to go deaf to your music or to (God, please keep!) attribute these notes to someone else. Or me. Or no one. (God keep me.)
But these kinds of things don't happen. I mean that, my worst fears don't come true. They just don't. You steer and craft and protect and you guide. I give myself to you, and know that you're going to use me to your best. And you know that's what I want. You are my Father, and you never tire of Fathering me, never fail. Always do, guide and helm. That's you, God. That's what you're like. You love me deeply.
So I need Fathering in many more areas. I do I do. But you'll do this; thank you, God.
Thank you for Bruce Springsteen, Father. Thank you for his passion. Thank you that yours beats his by a long stretch.
Thank you for my circular (play) glasses. Thank you that they look so funny and help me not to take myself as seriously.
Oh! Thank you for Leif Enger, Father! And his so well-constructed sentences.
Ooh, and for Derek Webb, Father, thank you for him. He's got some issues, doesn't he, Father? Some anger, I think? But I think I hear so much of the Gospel in his music. You know, of restoration and that things need restoring in the first place. Thank you for people who mourn the things that are not right and lead me to the same. Thank you for the Queen of Arts and England and how I feel she mourns for things (fallen birds, dying things, wrong relationships) that are not right. That she feels deeply.
I thank you, God, in general for people who feel deeply. May I feel deeply; may I smell deeply and hear deeply and see truly. And may I know you.
Thank you for loving me. And holding me (I know you have; you love me more deeply than anyone ever has or will).
In Jesus' Name,