glimmers

One shard of a glimmer of a glimpse I got to cup and examine in my hand today:

God blesses.

Like, if we watched a human parent bestow as many blessings upon their children as God bestows upon us, we would think that they were spoiling their children. And though I believe God is good, I cannot yet wrap my mind around the idea of some Being who is filled with infinite kindnesses.

Infinite.

I cannot wrap my mind around that word. Infinite kindness? It's too much for this "Type-A-gotta-keep-running-to-deserve-love" kind of kid.

Just sit back and be amazed with me for a second. Realize—God gave me grace yesterday, and I didn't thank Him for it. If I did thank Him, it wasn't pure enough, it wasn't loud enough. It wasn't thorough. Then what did God do?

He gave me more. He gives us more.

It's like if your Dad gave you a bike for Christmas, and after you forget to say "thank you," he goes ahead and builds you a treehouse too. This is not to imply that God is a bad parent, or won't correct and teach us. I'm just trying to put into words—there's grace upon grace; forgiveness piled upon more lavish forgiveness. My praise is never enough to completely appreciate Him, yet I am given "every spiritual blessing in Christ." (Eph. 1:3)

You know why? Because I don't need to be the perfect, model-child for Him to love me. Good fathers love their kids, not because of what they've done, but simply because that's their kid.

Mom calls me "Preciosa." Dad calls me "Sunshine," because I light up his life. And that's not because I'm a glowy person or easy to live with. (I kinda suspect the "Sunshine" nickname was originally meant to be ironic.) But the nicknames are meant to reflect the fact that they love me, and I'm their daughter—not because I am ever-pleasant.

So take the grace in that, and magnify it to the billionth trillionth degree.

Abba-God adopts us in the gospel. We are really, truly, honestly His children—as much as if we'd been born originally into the His holiness.

As my pastor reiterates in a way that rings in my head, "God does not just love some future version of you." It's not some distant point in the future that He's finally going to say, "Atta boy." The love of God is now; refracted in a thousand graces of an ordinary day. Those tiny glimmers are stunning.