No offense to Christopher Columbus, Squanto, the Pilgrims or Native Americans, but this day strikes me as the day for thanksgiving. So as I go about doing what I need to do today…
I pause. I remember.
And I shudder. And my heart feels a little weaker and yet somehow stronger.
Because I am small. Because I am insignificant. Because I am tiny.
But He looks at me and calls me beloved.
I am Beloved.
Beloved beyond any logical explanation. Beyond any real comprehension. My heart barely scrapes the surface of what it means. But my heart couldn’t hold it all anyway.
So it hastens. It quickens. It flutters to be near Him. To be in the presence of the Lover of my soul. He knows that I can’t comprehend the depth of that love. The magnitude of that Lover. He knows that, and yet He looks at me and calls me beloved.
He calls me child.
He calls me His own.
And I am ever, eternally grateful.
I am praying that whenever you read this, whether it be on Good Friday or on some mundane, difficult, random Monday (especially then) that you will know that you are beloved, too.