Ask nicely

“Want loud!  Want Jesus Better loud!” – That’s how my favorite 3-year-old asks me to turn up the volume to his favorite song in the car.

“Ask nicely, buddy!” – That’s what I tell him.

“Please-may-I-have-Jesus-Better-loud -please.” – That’s his response.

The cuteness doesn’t really translate when you read that because you can’t hear the ridiculousness of his voice, but trust – it’s totes adorbs.  And no one in their right mind would say no.

A prayer for my pal

[Happy birthday to my sweet Hosea.  This little kiddo probably already has more words prayed over him than most people in the world, and I trust that must mean that God has glorious plans for him.  Please join me in praying for Hosea on his third birthday.]

Father,

Thank you for the fearful and wonderful crafting of the soul of Hosea.  Thank you that all the days of his life were written before one of them came to be.  

Will you send your Spirit into him even now?  Own his heart for your inheritance. Will you take this prayer for him and make it more than words? Make it real and tangible evidence of your power and grace.

Car stereos and gifted people

Here’s how I’ve spent a lot of time this week: thanking God in my car.

I like time in my car.  Mostly because my introvert self can curl up inside my music and crawl inside the worlds in my mind.

The music menu usually consists of musicals (the good ones), music that falls within my self-titled ‘Dawson’s genre’, and/or country.  The two recent exceptions have been: (a) when I have a toddler in tow or (b) when a friend releases a new album.

This week my car time has been cannibalized by the latter.  I’ve been listening to my buddy Jimmy’s new record and it has me thanking God for two reasons:

Perseverance in disguise

I still remember the way the chair squealed slightly as she twisted toward me.  I remember the thinly veiled urgency in her voice as she looked at me with pleading eyes and asked me: ‘Where is He?!’

I remember the rasp of desperation in her tone and I remember feeling a moment of doubt.  It was one of the first times I realized that my churchey answers weren’t enough for the hurting and the broken.  My simple and shallow theology didn’t know what to do with a God who wasn’t showing up.Screen Shot 2014-05-25 at 7.51.57 PM

Waiting

He’s good at waiting.

He’s been doing it since before the foundation of the world when He dreamed this whole thing up.

Waiting for the fullness of time.  Waiting for the moment of redemption in a billion different stories.  He’s waiting now.

He’s waiting for me to turn back from the pigpen, waiting for my shadowy figure to appear on the horizon, waiting to fling up His robes and run toward me.  He’s waiting for me to turn off the TV and open the letter He left me to tell me to assure me that I’m not alone no matter what it looks like.