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He's my daddyFriday, March 18, 2005
Psalm 18:4-7 It happens all the time. And so often there's nothing I can do ... I have learned to pray more quickly, more instinctively the moment I hear an anguished cry, learning layer-by-deeper-layer that I really don't do God's work for him. I don't do God. Yesterday Marc called me. His voice was not full of joy. He put a new cordless computer keyboard on top of his car while he loaded up and drove off forgetting about it. Driving back along his trail he couldn't even find pieces. It made me think of a time when Chris did something like that with an expensive camera he'd gotten as a high school graduation gift. We drove back down the street together. Nothing to be found. Of course it gets much much worse. People hurt each other, justice means little, the world is a dangerous, scary place. Protecting others is a job for Superman, the Lone Ranger, Billy Jack, the Chicago police, mom, dad ... but except in the comic strips none of us can do better than stand in the gap and pray. God's righteousness is unimpeachable; no evil stands before him. He serves and protects. First as son, and then as father, I learn to trust him, over and over standing before him and crying out for rescue. I can feel the mountains tremble. Only you, Lord, know me well enough to also know always what I need. I trust you to provide that for me, for my kids, for all your children. |