and he'll grab that rickety old chair that supports me each day and drag it out to the middle of floor and climb up...
and he'll climb up and stretch to reach that big old sunbeam that floods through the window and let it dance through his fingertips as he looks in wonder as his fingers turn to gold.
he stands entranced by the light that floods the evening shadows, that kisses our home one last time before it tucks itself away.
his eyes capture the sunlight that fades all too quickly and he holds the memory in his hands until it meets him again the next evening.
my husband, the one who is good and kind and strong, surprised me with empty jars to fill with the beauty He gives.
they are each claimed by two names,
faith and love.
and i didn't have a chair to climb up on, my face wasn't filled with a bright shaft of light...
instead, as i washed my dishes in a darkening kitchen, as bubbles clung to my skin, i looked up and held my breath,
because circumstances can seem bleak. what He asks of us may cause us to question and wonder and bend low over the cost.
but He's there, behind it all, in it all and through it all and i just need to trust. to open my hands and accept what He gives because at the bottom of it all is a Heart that beats out a rhythm of a Daddy who fills each day to the brim with beauty and hope...
