Zephaniah 3:17

“The Lord your God is with you….”
I wonder how many nights Andy and I have slept alone, just the two of us, all night long, over the last eight years. Absolutely alone–from night until morning–with no kids coming in for any reason. I’m guessing, not very many. Nathan’s bad dreams and Anne’s tiny bladder make for frequent nighttime visits. Molly stays put the best (third child!), but even she feels the need to drop in on occasion.

Once I asked Anne why she woke us up before going to the bathroom at night. After all, the bathroom is right next to her room, and she doesn’t inform us of her potty breaks during the day. Why must she at night? She said she just liked us to know where she was.

Nathan, too, doesn’t really need anything after his nightmares. Most often, he’s even too tired to tell us what the bad dream was about. He just wants to know he’s safe, I guess, and to remind himself that we’re still there.

All of us need to know we aren’t alone. That someone knows where we are, and that we’re safe. God made us that way, so that we would rely on His presence.

Embarrassing confession: when Andy is out of town overnight, I sleep with my Bible. I guess I can’t make it through the night alone, either. Sometimes I clutch it all night, and sometimes it winds up under the pillow. But it reminds me that God knows where I am, and that I am safe, and that the Lord my God is with me.

“…he is mighty to save….”
Recently Andy and I were given a new dining room table. (New to us, I mean.–Not actually “new”.) Andy brought the table home in a giant truck, and asked me to help him unload it.

I tried. Really, I did. But my goodness, was it heavy! Much heavier than our old table. I felt like I was carrying an oak tree–and a slippery oak tree at that.

As we took the table from the truck, I was on the ground, “catching”, while Andy lowered it down. I think I was very nearly crushed. And I’m not just being dramatic. My life was flashing before my eyes! (Practically.) I struggled to hold the giant oak and I yelled out, “Andeeeee!” Instantly he jumped to the ground and lifted the table from me. My load was lightened (and my life, narrowly spared).

I did my best to help Andy get the table into the house, but the truth is, I just sort of put my hands on it and walked along as he carried it. Andy had all the strength; he did all the work.

It’s the same with God. Sometimes I don’t see Him at work at all. I look at my finances and wonder where in the world He has gone. My prayers bounce off the ceiling and I decide that He doesn’t care. But then–just when the time is right and my desperation finally motivates me call out to Him, He supplies the strength to lighten my load. Because God is mighty to save!

“…He will take great delight in you…”
I am a “hero” person. Not a super hero person, mind you, although as a child I did spin around a lot, hoping to turn into Wonder Woman. But I have several real life heroes–people I admire so much I can hardly stand it.

Some I admire for their relationship with Jesus, some for their courage. Others I esteem highly for their writing ability, or wisdom, or giftedness at teaching. I want these traits in my own life, so such people are heroes to me.

Only problem is, I don’t measure up to any of them. Not even close. If my heroes could see inside me, they would know just how sorely lacking I am. Truthfully, I’m not very much like Jesus, and I have no courage. And anything wise I could ever hope to teach or write would just be a poor imitation of what my heroes have already said.

Worse yet, if my heroes could see inside my heart, they would be shocked. No, not shocked, because heroes are never shocked. But they would be saddened. Were I stripped of all the noble things I try to portray, all that remained would be ugly. Arrogance, rebellion, fear. I would be a big disappointment to my heroes.

Not so with God. Oh, isn’t this amazingly backwards? The one person who can see inside of me–the one who knows me the very best–doesn’t find me disappointing! He is perfect–worth far more admiration than any of my earthly heroes–but because of Jesus, He won’t point out my flaws. Quite the opposite. He takes great delight in me.

“…he will quiet you with his love…”
When I was in college (in the days before laptops, when no one really knew what the internet was), I used an old word processor for my papers. It had belonged to my sister when she was in college, too, five years earlier, and once again I inherited her hand-me-downs.

I know machines aren’t capable of feelings and opinions, but I’d swear that word processor hated me. Maybe it was old and tired of typing. Maybe it didn’t like what I had to say. Or maybe it preferred my sister to me, I don’t know. But it simply refused to work right for me. It would wait until the night before a paper was due–until I had typed the very last line of the very last page, and then it would simply turn off, losing everything I’d typed. That word processor deleted far more papers of mine that it ever printed. And it made a loud groaning noise as it shut itself down, followed by a few little shaking tremors, which I interpreted as the word processor’s laughter at me. I hated that machine.

One evening, after I’d fought with the word processor for hours, Andy stopped by my dorm. I met him in the lobby with tears of frustration. I told him how stupid everything was–my paper, my class, my word processor, and even him. I cried that I was doomed to fail college, since that awful machine wouldn’t work, and then who would hire me? And when I flunked out, then all my hard work and my parents’ money would be down the drain–all because of a stubborn, ancient word processor.

(Therapists call this “catastrophizing”, and I do it beautifully.)

I’ll never forget Andy’s reaction (partly because he still does this to me, years later): He put one hand on my shoulder, and brought his other hand up to his mouth. Raising his index finger to his lips, he said simply, “Ssshhh.”

He was telling me to be quiet. To stop worrying, complaining and exaggerating. To quit striving, and to simply relax.

He didn’t fix the word processor. He didn’t type my paper for me. He didn’t call my professor to ask for an extension. He didn’t do anything, really. But on the other hand, he did everything. He quieted me.

God is the same way. I bring Him worries and complaints, and He tells me simply to be still. “Ssshhh.” He quiets me with his love.

“…he will rejoice over you with singing.”
When I was in high school, I worked at a place called Leaps and Bounds, an indoor playground for kids. Leaps and Bounds was filled with McDonalds PlayPlace tubes (which I frequently got lost in) and ball pits (which kids frequently, well, you don’t want to know what they did in those balls).

One of my responsibilities at Leaps and Bounds was to host birthday parties, meaning, parents would rent a little room for their child’s birthday, and I’d lead the guests in cheesy games, and serve them pizza, and write down who brought what present. And of course, I had to light the candle on the cake, and lead everyone in singing, “Happy Birthday!”

I didn’t know this until I worked there, but kids react very differently to that song. Some kids pumped their fists in the air while people sang, smiling and even singing along to themselves. It’s as if they were thinking, “Yes! YES! All for me!” They soaked up the attention.

But other kids hated “Happy Birthday”. They would stare nervously at the cake, or at their moms, or even cover their faces in their hands until the song ended. Attention was the very last thing they wanted.

But regardless of the child’s reaction, every single party sang that song. It’s the way we honored the birthday child. “We are celebrating you…you are precious to us!”

Nowadays, when my kids have birthdays, I love to throw parties for them. I always flashback to their first birthdays, when they smeared cake all over their faces. I tell them stories of their births, and wonder at how big they’re getting. And always, I sing “Happy Birthday” to celebrate them.

Amazing, but true–God does the same thing. Just as I celebrate my children’s birthdays, God celebrates me–even with song. The very God who formed the stars finds me precious. He rejoices over me with singing!