She was four years old, I think, when she took her purple and pink crayons to my Bible. I do know that she could only spell three words at the time: Lydia, Mom and God.
I guess she’d seen me with my own “crayons” over the years, marking up thin pages of Holy writ with my green grease pencil. I would highlight whole sections while bent over those pages in a pew, or at the kitchen table.
Children are mirrors. They do what we do. They don’t listen to lectures or sermons. They watch our sermons, which we preach — often without saying a word — in places like kitchens and cars. And even though I had told her a hundred times to never scribble in her books, she had seen me “draw” in my Bible over and over again.
So, when I wasn’t looking, the child grabbed a crayon in her chubby little fist, and flipped open the Bible, to the verses in 1 John, and marked the only word she knew on the page: God.
“… now we are children of God,
and what we will be has not yet been made known to us.”
~ 1 John 3:2
She was deep into the Scriptures by the time I found her there, hunkered down with her small task of finding the biggest three-letter word to hit planet Earth.
When I did find her there, I tapped her on the shoulder. She looked up at me with wide eyes and a look of dread spreading across her face. It was the same look I’d seen on my girls when they had given themselves haircuts, had broken lamps, had drawn on walls, and had carved a name into the kitchen chair. She wore her guilt across her brow. She knew she had broken the rules about scribbling in books.
I counted later. She colored the word God 57 times.
It was the only word she could read on those pages. It was the only thing that made any sense on those pages.
In all of humanity, it’s the only thing that has ever made any sense at all. When this world gets crooked, God straightens. Sin walks in, like a bull in a china shop, and we find God — as Christ — stooping down to pick up shards so he can make something out of broken pieces.
Yes, the enemy is hell-bent on destruction, but God sends a Savior to stand guard. That’s the power of three letters: G.O.D.
He speaks; stars form.
He motions a hand; seas part.
He dispatches His son; kings tremble.
His name is whispered; the enemy shudders.
Three letters. One single word, holding the cure for every broken thing.
When everything falls apart? God.
When nothing works? God.
When disaster strikes? God.
When cancer? God.
When heartbreak? God.
When betrayal? God.
There is nothing He can’t redeem, no chaos to which He cannot bring order. He is in the business of making things aright, writing hope on the hearts of men. Wise men still seek Him … seek to find His name written on pages — and on our very own hearts.
So when that child looked up at me — the child, caught in the act of finding that one great Word — I could do nothing but hold her two small hands in mine. I looked her straight in the eye, squeezed her little fists and told her what a marvelously beautiful thing she had done.
***
Have you come by to share your God-Bumps or God-Incidences story? Oh good. I can’t wait to read them.
Here’s the scoop:
1 – Write your story about the God-Things that make you go hmmmm … those moments that give you God-Bumps (instead of goosebumps).
2 – Add a button to your post, found here.
3 – Come back and link up!
4 – Pay a visit to a neighbor and encourage them in their walk. I’ll see you at your place soon!
***
Subscribe to Dispatches
free updates sent directly to your inbox.
Midwife to Hope by Dea
Holding the Story