I want to be the widow in Luke 21. She’s the perfect portrayal of a follower of Christ. I have absolutely nothing to offer Him except “all (of the time) I have to live on.” I am an impoverished and dry soul without the abundance of Christ. But like the “rich” in the passage, I so often believe that my “gifts”-my creativity, my inquisitive heart, my courageous and adventurous spirit- are so incredibly valuable that they can be placed before the Lord as an offering. I fall, believing that only when I’m writing, or only when I’m on stage, do I have anything of worth to offer as a gift. Who am I to think that that is enough? Who am I to say that those gifts are even mine to give away? I have literally nothing that He needs, but everything He desires.

Jehovah Shammah: The Lord is there. This is the last name used for God in the Old Testament in Ezekiel 48:35. It beautifully describes the promise of the Lord’s restoration and faithfulness in our faithlessness. When the Israelites were rebelling against the Lord, God said He would remove His hand from them. And He did, but not completely. His love; grace; and mercy were always there with His people, and He was constantly drawing them to Himself. He promised through the prophet of Ezekiel that He would bring restoration to Israel and they would be the city of Jehovah Shammah.
I am that city. I am constantly failing and doing things for myself and out of the righteous love that I believe I have for others. But thank God that His promise is true. That He is there. He has already redeemed my future and ultimately won the battle. He is holding my hand to walk with Him into tomorrow, even after I already screwed up today Not only that, but He is here. Jesus brought that promise to life when He hung for me- a sinner who nailed Him upon the cross two thousand years ago. He is here. He is holding my hand, constantly drawing me near to Him, inviting me into His glory.

I’ve found my true cry of hallelujah to be born in the complete climax of turmoil with myself. It comes when my acute awareness of my depravity and my soul’s ardent yearning to choose and please Jesus eclipse. And my hallelujah’s cry begins to bleed and shake when I accept failure is inevitable because I’m the epitome of “worst of these.”. But my hallelujah will be made complete when I remember that He has already seen my monstrous unfaithfulness and He’s relentless in loving me just the same.

I wondered yesterday ‘if you asked the fatherless to create a father’s portrait, what would they create?’

Tonight I received an answer.

It looks like Vermont hill covered trees being blanketed with the bright blue sky. That’s the portrait of a Father. It looks like an wooden dance floor of a wedding. Twinkly lights hanging off branches of the trees that delicately seem to sway over it, it invites you to dance with your life long love. That’s the portrait of a Father. It looks like a long table set with a feast. Sitting at the table are people whom you love, people whom you don’t particularly care for, and people whom you’ve never even met. That’s the portrait of a Father. It looked like hundreds of souls on a beach breathing songs of praise to the very One that created the infinite grains of sand that hold the weight of my body up. That’s the portrait of a Father. It looks like an alabaster body leaking crimson. That’s the portrait of a Father. It looks like a ship riding the waves of a stormy sea, guided by the light from a red light house that happens to be on an island of green in the middle of the ocean. That’s the portrait of a Father. This life is a portrait of my Father.