Mountains. I’ve been pondering them.  Seems a little strange, given that I live in Alabama where we are notoriously mountain deficient.  My little hometown, nestled in the foothills of the Appalachians, is located in the “shadow” of Mt. Cheaha – Alabama’s highest point at 2,407 feet.  As far as mountains go, ours is not a huge one. I’ve never seen a really huge mountain that I can recall.  It’s on my bucket list. 

It’s not really geographical mountains that I’ve been pondering, though, which makes my pondering them seem a little less strange.  J 

Mountains in Scripture and in the life of the Christ follower – they are everywhere; places of refuge, indicators of the Presence and Activity of God, places of Holiness, and of Battle; Victory, Defeat, Revelation, Life, and Death. They are blessed as holy sanctuaries, and cursed as the Anger of God fell. The Law was given upon a mountain, even while His people sinned in its shadow. They are metaphors for troubled times, and monuments to the redeeming Power of God.

As Christians, we experience different kinds of mountains – those that are meant to be cast into the sea, and those that are meant to be climbed. But how does one tell the difference?  I’m glad you asked.  I’ve been pondering that as well, and have come to this conclusion:  What happens when you speak to it?  What happens when you exercise your authority in Christ, and speak to that mountain as Jesus instructed in Mark 11:23, “I tell you the truth, you can say to this mountain, ‘May you be lifted up and thrown into the sea,’ and it will happen. But you must really believe it will happen and have no doubt in your heart.”?  Does your mountain move?  No?  Then start climbing. 

I know.  It looks like I’m saying that Jesus got it wrong, that he should have said “sometimes it will happen”.  I’m not saying that at all.  Jesus said it, I believe it, and that settles it.  What I am saying, however, is that sometimes we have to climb a mountain to experience the mountain top. It doesn’t mean you don’t have enough faith to see your mountain move.  It means God has a different plan.  There are some circumstances in life that God would rather us go through than go around – and it is for our benefit that sometimes we must climb a mountain.  God never wastes a hurt, or a difficult situation, or a fear. He uses these life events to teach us so many things – strength, trust, perseverance, hope, determination (et cetera – as far as the eye can see).

Imagine the way that a climber ascends a mountain.  I can’t even begin to comprehend the physical, emotional, and psychological endurance it requires to reach the top of a giant mountain.  But I can imagine the elevation elation that climber feels when he reaches the mountain top! It is the same with the overcoming Believer.  Climbing our mountains, ascending from the valleys is not easy.  It takes supernatural effort, faith, dogged determination, and indefatigable trust that God won’t let us fall – and an integral knowing if we do slip, He will catch us. The physical, emotional, and psychological endurance required is astronomical – but the spiritual benefit is indescribable. 

Have you ever been on the mountain top?  Ever faced a giant and watched it fall?  Sure you have. We all have.  Some are bigger than others. Doesn’t matter the size of your mountain. If you climbed it, you’ve experienced the mountain top.  At 2,407 feet, Mt. Cheaha is small compared to other mountains – but I sure wouldn’t try to climb it!  But if I went temporarily insane and did give it a shot, and IF I reached the top without dying, I would sure enough have a mountain top experience there at Alabama’s highest point. (Entre nous, I imagine my mountain top experience would consist of paramedics and oxygen….) I would have learned many lessons on the way up the mountain – trust my ropes, find strong hand and foot holds and hang on tight, rest along the way, take in nourishment, drink the water, be courageous.  (OK, Mt. Cheaha isn’t THAT kind of a mountain – there’s a lovely paved road that goes all the way to the top, frequented by hikers and bicyclists. You get the picture, though, no?)

Mountains in our lives are no different, and the lessons cross over – trust my rope - I will trust Jesus whether He casts my mountain into the sea, or asks me to join Him for a climb; find strong hand and foot holds and hang on tight – pray, pray, pray, pray. It is our source of strength – pray, declare imminent victory even when it seems a long way off, worship the One Who climbs with you and is waiting at the top to give you more of Himself. Rest along the way – sometimes it’s enough to rest in His Presence and just wait for your second wind; He is faithful to give it. Remember, He wants you to reach the top because He has good things for you there. Take in nourishment – immerse yourself in the Word of God. Seek out and write down Scriptures that speak to your situation or mindset and declare them (boldly, confidently – His Word is LIVING and ACTIVE. Use it!) Drink the water – the Presence of Holy Spirit. He is there to strengthen and comfort you. Drink. Huge draughts of Holy Water. Drink Him in. Be courageous – I promise you that you can do it.  Nothing is too big for you and God together to handle.  You don’t have to feel courageous – you just have to keep climbing and not give up in defeat.  That’s the definition of courage – being afraid but doing it anyway.  Keep climbing, keep going - look up! There’s a mountain top waiting, and the God of the Mountain is there!

“I look up to the mountains – does my help come from there?  My help comes from the Lord, Who made Heaven and Earth.  He will not let you stumble; the One Who watches over you will not slumber. Indeed, He Who watches over Israel never slumbers or sleeps.  The Lord Himself watches over you! The Lord stands beside you as your protective Shade. The sun will not harm you by day, nor the moon at night.  The Lord keeps you from all harm and watches over your life.  The Lord keeps watch over you as you come and go, both now and forever.” Psalm 121, NLT

I thought about it today - what I was doing on the day that terrorists attacked this great Nation. Just like you, I remember every detail of that day. Two major life events personally, eclipsed by this National horror on Sept. 11, 2001.

I thought about writing it all down, and telling you where I was that day, the heartbreak we were facing, even before the first flight’s wheels left the tarmac.

Instead, I want to tell you where I was NOT that day.

I was NOT aboard American Airlines Flight 11 when it crashed into the North Tower of The World Trade Center, carrying a crew of 11, and 76 passengers. Five evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard American Airlines Flight 11.  I will never forget.

I was NOT aboard United Airlines Flight 175 when it crashed into the South Tower of the World Trade Center, carrying a crew of 9, and 51 passengers.  Five evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard United Airlines Flight 175.  I will never forget.

I was NOT aboard American Airlines Flight 77 when it crashed into the Pentagon, carrying a crew of 6, and 53 passengers. Five evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard American Airlines Flight 77.  I will never forget.

I was NOT aboard United Airlines Flight 93 when it crashed into a field near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, carrying a crew of 7, and 33 brave passengers who attempted to regain control of the airplane.  Four evil men took the lives of the innocent men, women, and children who were aboard United Airlines Flight 93.  I will never forget.  “Let’s roll!”

I was NOT beginning my work day in the World Trade Center, or in the Pentagon.  I was NOT trapped in the upper floors of these mammoth towers.  I did NOT leap to my death, but almost 200 innocent people did.  I was NOT a first responder, rushing into the unknown, risking my own life in an effort to save others. I was NOT on the telephone, listening to the voice of my loved one, facing certain death, reassuring, speaking words of love to me for the last time.  I was NOT running, covered in ash, breathing toxic air, fleeing the crushing weight of falling debris.  I did not kiss my family goodbye that morning with a promise to see them at dinner, unaware that I would be forced to break that promise by 19 evil men.  

I was not one of 2,977 innocent men, women, and children who died that day.  I will never forget them.

Different nationalities, different races, different ideologies, different faiths, different hearts, different minds – but all, precious, valuable, loved, and all lost to us because of the hatred of evil men.

Tuesday, September 11, 2001 would have been a pretty rotten day for my family and me, even if those 19 evil men had never boarded 4 airplanes. But, I didn’t lose my life that day.  My life was changed, but I woke up on Wednesday, September 12.  I was given, what so many – TOO many – had lost.  A future. So, I remember them. We cannot let them become brief mentions in a history book, faceless numbers in the recordings of “Worst Ever” events. We cannot let them pass into the past, vaguely remembered, and mourned by only the loved ones they left behind.

We must remember. They deserve our remembrance. Their families deserve our unity, mourning with them for the tomorrows that were stolen from them by evil men. Their children deserve our compassion, longing with them for the loving guidance of a parent, taken too soon by evil men. Their mothers, fathers, siblings, spouses ache every day for the one ripped away; they deserve our unanimity on this day. But not just this day.

Folks, look around.  Look at us.  What are we doing? What have we become?  14 years ago, we were indivisible – ONE NATION – brothers and sisters. There were no dividing lines based on color, lifestyle, religion…Evil had come to us, and we stood together against it.  Today, we’re murdering our first responders – the extraordinary heroes who run TOWARD disaster and evil to protect and serve us. Today, we’re murdering our children; we’re murdering each other. Today, we hate each other, we’re intolerant of each other – we’re becoming no different from the 19 evil men who brought terror to America.  We have forgotten, and we should be ashamed. 

2,977 lives lost brought this country briefly to its knees.  We rose up as one, united and determined.  How many stolen lives will it take before we finally see each other the way we did on September 12, 2001? We have become what we stood against – murderers, filled with hatred. We need not fear ISIS. We need not fear another attack on U.S. soil.  We’re destroying each other from within; terrorists need not put forth any effort. We are doing their jobs for them – one life at a time.

I was NOT one of 2,977 people who died a horrific death that day.  Neither were you.  So, what are you going to do about it?

We’ve forgotten and we must remember. 

God bless America.  America, bless God.

The R word.  Retarded. I hate the R word.  I hate when it is directed at someone in humor – “Hahahaha! You’re so retarded!”. I hate when it is directed at someone in cruelty – “Are you retarded?”. 

I. hate. that. word. 

Yesterday, my boy was on the bus headed home from school, and some smart-mouthed wildling on the bus asked him, “Are you retarded?”.  My boy is NOT retarded – as a matter of fact, he clearly SOARS in intelligence far and away above the hellion that asked the question. Intelligence would have looked beyond any differences that may still be detectable in my boy to find the awesomely cool, funny, and enjoyable young man that he is.  Intelligence would have recognized that sometimes what makes a person different is exactly what makes them amazing.  For example, my boy isn’t cruel – he would never have asked another student such a question.  He has never used the R word against another person. He would never reject another person. He doesn’t see differences – he sees people and knows that we’re ALL different.  He doesn’t follow the crowd, doesn’t get caught up in trends, doesn’t rebel against authority because it’s “cool”, doesn’t disrespect his teachers, parents, bus driver, other students, or anyone else with whom he interacts.  My boy is kind, gentle, loving, empathetic, generous, entertaining, outgoing, helpful, friendly, and GOOD. My boy is all that is good and right in this world that’s rapidly going crazy.  He’s a true friend when true friends are hard to find.  The bus brat will never know all these things, however, because he only sees an opportunity to lash out, to bully, to speak hurtful words in an attempt to be “funny” to the other wildlings around him. 

My boy told me about the incident, and I was livid.  I’m still livid.  I want to jump in my car and drive to the house where my boy indicates the wildling lives.  I want to go, knock on the door, and tell his parents that they’re raising a hellion, slap the smirk off the offending mouth and tell him that his cruelty and attempt at humor has blinded him to the opportunity to know an amazing person.  I want to shame his parents. I want them all to feel the same pain that my boy felt – that I feel. I want to return cruelty for cruelty. It’s human nature blended with Mama Bear rage – I was ready to kick butt and take names.  Then, my boy….my amazing, wonderful boy…said, “But, he apologized.”

And that was it.  Right there, in three words, my boy demonstrated the Love and Forgiveness of Christ. I have no doubt the words still sting him – but, he apologized. So, we have to forgive.  Can I be honest and say that I don’t WANT to forgive?  I want to write a scathing letter to school administration, have the boy yanked from the bus and disciplined, reprimand the bus driver for allowing hate-filled words to be uttered on his bus.  I know.  It’s illogical.  Doesn’t matter; I’m a Mom and I want justice.  But, he apologized.

Oh, to have a heart like my boy – that doesn’t bear grudges, that readily forgives, gives a zillion second chances, and then starts over on third chances when the seconds run out. 70 x 7 fleshed out by a boy who sees life through different eyes.  The world would be a beautiful place if there were more eyes and hearts like his.  I would be a better person were I more like he is.  Funny, how as parents we watch our children and look for ourselves in them.  More often, I find myself watching him and looking for him in me.  He is my teacher, more than I’ve ever been his.

So, I’ll step back from my agenda of retribution.  I’ll wait to see what the future bus rides bring – perhaps a friendship, perhaps more cruel words. It remains to be seen how this will play out in the coming days.  If a friendship grows, I’ll be glad I held my tongue and accepted my son’s words, “But, he apologized.” If more cruelty comes, then I’ve got more ammunition to use in my scathing letter – and perhaps a good defense should I resort to mayhem. Mama Mayhem. It has a certain ring to it. I like it.  You can call me that. J

Last First Day of School.  Words that make the faces of shiny new high school seniors beam with joy and anticipation…and make the worry-worn and weary faces of their mothers pucker with barely contained tears - commingled sorrow and pride. Today was that day for my youngest son – and for me. He is my baby, all 6’3” of him – in my mind and heart, still a hip-high Kindergartener walking into the school, slightly ahead of me – and then RUNNING into the waiting arms of a beloved Speech & Language Therapist, leaving Mommy to walk, solo, the remaining distance to his first classroom.  I found him there, the Traitor, already settled in a desk with bright, colorful things taped to the desktop to draw his attention.  I remember standing, not quite certain of what to do next…I hadn’t expected this; I hadn’t expected him to not need me that day - of all days. I needed him to need me.  Worry, sorrow, and pride fought for control of my emotions. A brief word with his wonderful teacher, aide, and SLT; a kiss & hug from my guy and I was on my way out – tears winning the war with my eyelids and dripping from my lashes, all hopes of a dignified, stalwart exit dashed as I hurried, head bent to hide my failed attempt to not cry, to the door and to my waiting Jeep. 

Fast forward – LITERALLY! We went through a time warp or something! – a dozen years later to today. Last First Day of School.  My hip-high baby is now a towering Gigantor, with a quick wit, amazing talent, and a sharp, intelligent mind who can match his Mom’s (no longer Mommy; I graduated to “Mom” somewhere along the way) sarcastic tongue lash for lash.  I drove him to school, asking questions along the way – “Do you have your pens?” “Do you have your house key?” “Is your phone charged?” “Do you know where your first class is?” “Are you sure this is where I need to drop you off?”  Each question answered in a tone increasingly frustrated until finally, “Mom. I’ve got this.” brought a halt to my questions. I can’t help it.  I needed him to need me, just one more time.   A quick air kiss, “Thanks, Mom. I love you.” and he was out the door, walking the confident, sure walk of the upperclassman toward the building to begin his Senior year.  I drove away, not daring to look over my shoulder, lest I embarrass him.

Oh, I know he needs me.  All boys need their Mom – no matter their age.  I know that there are lessons to be taught, corrections to be made, comfort to be offered, wisdom to be shared – my work isn’t done.  He will need me for a while yet – and then, when he no longer needs me, it is my prayer that he will want me to have a supporting role in his life…in the background, blended in to remain unobtrusive, cheering, encouraging, advising – coach, friend, Mom.  Ours is a relationship that is as unique, different, and wonderful as he is.  I think it always will be.  That makes me happy.

Tonight, on the eve of his Last Second Day of School, I finally told him the story of his diagnosis with autism. Oh, he knew of the diagnosis, but I’d never taken the time to tell him the story. I told him of the questions and concerns that led me to request a referral from his doctor. I told him of the initial diagnosis of a severe language delay, and ultimately, of the diagnosis of autism.  I told him of the school system’s request to send him to an autism classroom at another school in another district and how I had refused and fought for his placement in our home district, in a general education classroom, with an aide, because I REFUSED to just give in to autism. I refused to give up on him. I told him how proud I am of him and how far he has come; how I know there is nothing that he cannot accomplish, no dream he can’t reach because he is an overcomer. 

His eyes shone with tears. I asked him not to cry – his story is a happy one; it is a story of victory! He briefly excused himself to blow his nose, then he returned to my side to thank me for fighting for him.  For not giving up on him. I had mistaken his tears for sadness; they were tears of gratitude.

He thanked me.  My hero thanked me. 

Senior year.  Class of 2016.  8 months until graduation. 279 days.  I can do this. I’ll be okay.  We’ll both be okay. 

Run, Daniel, Run!  Hebrews 12:1.

“Don’t you know who you are? What’s been done for you? You are more than the choices that you’ve made, you are more than the sum of your past mistakes, you are more than the problems you create, you’ve been remade.” ~ You Are More, Tenth Avenue North

 

This was my earworm this morning when my alarm awakened me.  This song, repeating through my head, and I realized it had been there all night. Every time I would wake up to roll over, or uncover (hot flashes, don’t you know..) or re-cover (they don’t last forever..), there it was, scrolling through my brain like a marquee.  I have it in my music on my phone, but I’m not sure when I heard it last.  Apparently, it had wriggled its way into my heart and mind in order to show up in my dreams. 

After I was awake enough to fully realize it was there, I began to ponder the words more closely, searching out the lyrics in order to read them over several times (how I miss lyrics inside of CD jackets!).

Check this out: “ ’Cause this is not about what you’ve done, but what’s been done for you.  This is not about where you’ve been, but where your brokenness brings you to. This is not about what you feel but what He felt to forgive you, and what He felt to make you loved.”

Wow. That makes my heart smile.  I’m so thankful for His Love.  There’s something so freeing in the realization that it doesn’t matter what I do – or don’t do, doesn’t matter how I look, feel, or what I weigh. Bad hair days, good hair days, rattled, frustrated, busy, energized or tired, irritable (did I mention hot flashes?), or silly and happy.  The things that affect us on a daily basis, causing changes in mood or emotions; our choices, decisions, failures, successes – none of those things change HIM. None of those things change His vast Love for us.  How completely life-giving! 

Sometimes, I can be a bit on the irrational side – I’m “of an age” where these things begin to happen…sometimes, I take it out on my family, and they get ill with me.  Who can blame them?  They’re right – they don’t deserve to bear the brunt of my mood swings.  (I’m learning to keep my mouth shut rather than allowing frustration over minor things to spew out of it. Thank You, Lord, for Grace.)  I’m so thankful that God isn’t moved by my irrationalness (yes, it’s a word..kinda ugly, ain’t it?). It makes my heart soar to realize that He still looks on me kindly, with Love that I cannot comprehend and Mercy that I cannot outrun. Jesus saw the ugly mess that I can sometimes be before He ever went to the Cross – loved me anyway, and He carried it there for me so that I could sit here on this laptop and type out my feelings for you to read. 

I can be hard on myself. I bet you can, too (on yourself, not me...well maybe me, too?).  Most of us are our own worst critics, I think.  Thankful, thankful, THANK-FULL that the weight of regrets, missteps, and failures don’t define me.  When my self-talk turns to the “I can’t believe you did that – so STUPID.” I’m beyond thankful that His Voice tells me that I’m enough – that He loves me anyway – despite it, through it, above it, I am loved. So are you.  Immeasurably, vastly, immensely, enormously, exceedingly, extremely, greatly, hugely, mightily, tremendously, especially, exceptionally, powerfully, remarkably, abundantly, incalculably, incomparably, incredibly, intensely, supremely, surpassingly, deeply, eminently, extraordinarily, profoundly, acutely, astonishingly, dearly, decidedly, emphatically, particularly, truly, wonderfully – you are LOVED by the Ancient One, the King of kings and Lord of lords.  Period.  It is finished, done.  (and yes – I pulled out my thesaurus for that..)  See each one of those words up there?  I challenge you to do this:  Read them each, individually, out loud, followed by the words: I am loved by God.  (For example – Immeasurably, I am loved by God. And so forth through the entire list.)  Go ahead. Do it now. I’ll wait. 

Finished?  How special are you?!?!?  Pretty special.  Want me to get my thesaurus out again?  No?  You get the picture, right?  If we’re loved like that by the very God Who created us – what on earth should ever make us feel less?  Exactly.  Nothing. On. Earth.

I don’t know about you, but that makes me want to sing.  I believe I will. 

Have a great day, friends!  J

Y’all, my heart is so heavy this Mother’s Day weekend. As a mother, this weekend always makes me reflect on the things of motherhood – did I do a good job raising my boys? Will their memories of their childhood be pleasant ones?  Will they remember me with an abundance of wonderful memories when I make my journey Home? 

You know – standard Mom fare.

But, today, my heart is heavy for mothers that I do not know.  This week, I watched the tragedy of three families unfold before me; I am wounded for them. 

During the first part of the week, I was selected to sit as a juror on the trial of a young man who had inadvertently, but recklessly, caused the death of a young woman.  As much as my heart wanted to display the Grace and Mercy of God to him, I had to weigh only the evidence and cast my vote on that alone.  As I left that courtroom after the verdict was rendered and the young man led away in handcuffs, I had to walk past two grieving families.  The young woman’s mother stepped forward, hugging a photograph of her beautiful daughter to thank me even as the young man’s family glared with tears in their eyes; my heart broke in two.  There were no winners here – in this situation, everyone loses.  Without speaking, selfishly without offering words of comfort, I ducked my head, allowing my hair to fall in front of my face to hide my tears, pausing only briefly to offer a weak nod to her, and fled the courtroom. I could not face their pain in the midst of my own. I am thankful that Jesus is our Righteous Judge, and our Advocate before the Father; I, too, would stand convicted without His Intercession on my behalf.

 My prayer is that this young man, a precious creation of God regardless of his behavior and choices, comes to encounter the Living God and the transforming power of His Love.  I pray that the families of these children – to me, they are children – find a place of peace, forgiveness, and hope in Jesus Christ.  I will never forget them or their beloved children, and I will always, always pray for them.

Later in the week, my youngest son came home from school carrying the news that a classmate’s younger sister - 14 years old - had taken her own life as a result of bullying at school.  I don’t even have the words to describe the depth of the grief it placed in my heart. This poor girl…and her poor family.  I can’t even begin to imagine their pain.  I saw her picture on social media – she was beautiful.  What words could have been spoken and absorbed into her spirit to cause her to believe she wasn’t worthy of life?  Oh, sweet child of God, their words do not define you; His Word says you were fearfully and wonderfully made, precious and honored in His Sight – a child of the One True King.  I am so sorry that you were hurt; I’m so sorry that you doubted your beauty and your worth. My sincere hope is that those whose words so wounded you will come forward, repent before the Father and your family, and somehow justice will be done where there is no justice that will ever be enough. They, too, are just children. My heart hurts for them and their families as well.

Such a tragedy, such a loss. 

My friends, our world is hurting; our children are suffering and dying at the hands of one another. How sad it must make Father God to see how far we have fallen.  There is only one answer – Jesus.  We all need Jesus. 

“And I will give you a new heart, and I will put a new spirit in you. I will take out your stony, stubborn heart and give you a tender, responsive heart.”  Ezekiel 36:26

 

Sometimes I read things or see something on television that will just stay with me.  Usually, it’s useless information that might come in handy occasionally, say, during a trivia game. Occasionally, from the recesses of my memory, something will come to the surface at a seemingly random moment, and suddenly God is using it to reveal his heart. There is no random with God; He is all about design.

A long time ago, I was watching one of those medical shows on Discovery.  You know the type – where they show actual surgeries, and you have to close your eyes when they make incisions?  One of those (shudder!).  This one was about heart transplants.  A narrator was discussing the intricacies of the procedure, while we watched it take place. In this case, the donor and the recipient were in side by side operating rooms.  The narrator made the statement that the donor heart continues to beat for a few moments after it is harvested, as does the damaged heart of the recipient after its removal. He stated that if the two heart muscles are placed side by side, they continue to beat with their own, individual and unique rhythm. But, if the hearts are allowed to touch each other, almost instantly, the pulse of the weaker heart changes, aligning with the stronger heart, until they pulsate in matching syncopation, beating as one. How amazing is the creation of God? How like God to use a barely remembered television show to speak to me.

Yesterday, during our worship service at church, I was suddenly reminded of the show about these hearts, and I could see clearly the impact of worship on the hearts of God’s people.  How deeply we are loved by our Father! He desires so much the place of intimacy with us. When we reciprocate that love and desire, something incredible happens.  The Author of the Universe, the Ancient of Days, Majesty – draws near to His Creation, and allows His Heart to be touched by ours – and ours by His.  Our weaker, so very human hearts are enveloped by His, and as one they begin to beat in matching rhythm, as Father and Child dance.  Troubles fade away, worries are without power, fear is replaced by the peace that comes from being held secure in the arms of our Daddy.  What unmatched joy awaits within the Heart of God!

Beloved of God, your Father’s Heart longs for yours. He cherishes you and promises His Presence.  Worship isn’t about a posture, it’s not about your words, or whether or not you can carry a tune. There’s no need to wait until you’ve got it all together – God sees your mess and isn’t appalled by it; His Love is too great, His Mercies too deep. As a parent, there were times when my children were small, and they’d show up with sticky hands and dirty face, wanting a hug and a kiss. I didn’t see the mess; I saw my child whom I love so deeply, and I hugged them, kissing them without regard for their messiness.  Daddy God loves us so much deeper than that.

Worship isn’t a place, it’s not a program, there’s no formula, no pattern…worship is as individual and unique as our heartbeats. It doesn’t matter how it looks – what matters is that we allow our hearts to rise to touch the Heart of our Father.  It’s an act of opening your spirit to His, a dropping of walls, a stirring of faith, an act of the will. We worship because He is worthy of worship and adoration. He responds because of His great Love for us.  Face to face; Heart to heart; Father to child.

Precious one – your Daddy is waiting. He has a dance reserved just for you.  What are you waiting for?