How much more must He see me

"Look at the birds of the air, they do not sow or reap...

See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin...

Will He not much more clothe you, O you of little faith."

Matthew 6

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Today is all liquid and wind and dark. She sits across from me, pouring out, split right down the middle and I can't help but cry with her. I want to pull her in, close, and tell her of all the good promises. But how do you tell a broken soul it will be made whole when it's still halved and bleeding and throbbing?

The cold rain comes all day long. Everything wet and dark.  We are all groaning with disappointment when we look out the windows each morning. More snow. More frozen rain. More…of the things we wish would stop. We're all griping and aching for the light. And I think of her. All night. A soul wound gaping open. Mine still hurting and only just starting to heal, only just now starting to believe the promises of good and joy and whole. I'll be up all night if I don't finally give in so I put down the coffee and shut the door. 

Lulled to sleep by pattering rain. Eyes closed and I breathe deep. Resting in this moment. Perfect moment. The good man lays next to me, already long dreaming. My hand finds his. Could anything be better than this moment? How could I forget, in all my wanting more and wishing, in all the dark and cold -- what I have now is more than enough? As if falling asleep to all the beautiful sounds of spring and new beginnings, wrapped in love, wasn't enough, I wake up to birds chirping and bright rays pouring through the shades.

Birds chirp and grass grows. The sun shines. The warmth comes to thaw our chilled bones. The seasons change and the earth moves steady, turning, making full circle through the stars. The robins call and the geese squawk. And He sees them. How much more does He think of me?

I am so forgetful. Could this be my biggest flaw? I forget in the dark and the cold and the seemingly unending that the sun does shine again. And I should know this. This miracle unfolding every year. I should know that the days get longer and the nights shorter. I should know that the dead things will soon be filled with life, flowers uncurling and bursting. I should know this. And still, I walk and stomp and question. How forgetful.

I call her and tell her. Go on and on about the grass and the flowers and the sun and new beginnings and dark nights brought to light. I go on about His goodness and faithfulness and His never leaving, never forgetting, even in valleys. Maybe a soul wasn't stitched up new but I'm trusting a piece was put back together.

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I say this every year. And every year I mean it. This will be the biggest year of our lives. I stare at bills and grocery lists and cars falling apart before our very eyes. I think of dreams to own a home and be debt free. And lately, I'm looking at adoption paper work. My heart skips a beat from excitement and defeat. I don't have to tell you how expensive this will be. And I hold my hands up in confusion How? How God? How do we make this work?

And I hear that small whisper. That cool breeze against my ear. And I remember. It isn't us who makes it work, but Him. The birds chirp and the grass grows. Every year it's the same.  And He sees it all. He brings them back. How much more does He think of me?

Maybe this life isn't what I had in mind. I struggle to accept unexpected. I fight to find joy. But we have more than enough. And I breathe gratitude and smile in the rain. We are living in His grace and my heart overflows with joy.

And when we need the math to work, the numbers to multiply. When we need mending and bending, the healing and the good -- when we need the miracles…He will make it happen.

He sees the birds. How much more must He see me?