There's something irreverent and selfish about our babbling on and on.
When Isaiah saw the Lord in his majesty, he did have a few words. But those words were of his unclean lips. There was a need for his words to be burned, purged. The seraph was happy to oblige him.
Because being in awe of God makes us speechless. Dumb.
How can words be few when you're a writer, and that's what you do? String words together to paint pictures. To apply Balm to the wounded. To wrap your small (but God-deemed significant) self around Him who's not only too big, but infinite. Even his gifts are too big. Too grand. I, too small. Too limited.
Can I take them in? Only with words that are the sacrifice of praise (Hebrews 13:15). Only by counting...
289 ~ asking for Dad's parenting advice after our own miserable failure in those roles ourselves
290 ~ his wise advice: keep 'em talking to you - our very own downfall
291 ~ that this would have made Grandma so very happy
292 ~ God made happy, too, because it's his grace
293 ~ warm sun through my office window
294 ~ the maple's testimony to everlasting life
295 ~ video birthday wishes from kids in Guatemal who have met me but once, and love me still
296 ~ daughters when they share
297 ~ colonial America preserved in an historic district
298 ~ the eight steeples I counted that slash the Savannah skyline, marking forever our culture for Christ
299 ~ indoor swimming in November
300 ~ a congregation of five on a hotel room floor
301 ~ Live oak and Spanish moss reminding me of home
302 ~ man-sized hugs from a son whis is still a boy...but morphing
303 ~ the ride home
304 ~ the kind of beauty that comes with age
305 ~ that being awe-struck is being dumb-struck
306 ~ the foolishness of God confounding the wise
Choosing my words to be those of praise and counting blessings in community with others at One Thousand Gifts.