Psalms 147, 148; 1 Corinthians 4

I didn’t grow up in a Christian home.

“If anyone asks, just tell them you’re Methodist,” my mom said. I didn’t even know what that meant. As a family, we never went to church, murmured a prayer, or spoke of His love.

This was no obstacle for my Creator. He showed up amid the scattered game pieces across an elementary school friend’s floor when she asked me, “Do you want to go to heaven?” He showed up down the street at the Hispanic family’s house, where a mother’s broken-English spoke to me of Adam and Eve–the first I’d ever heard of them. Life’s fracturing moments, each one drew me closer to Him: when a child died before I’d ever heard its heart beat; when my heart broke from betrayal; when my mother died; when I packed up ten years of happiness and hopes (and expectations, lost)–He was there, time after time in a list that goes on. Last year’s bible reading plan, a theme emerged in my readings: He holds it all together. And I count on that, because there’s so much over which I have no control.

I read these psalms and take them slow: don’t miss out on His glory.

He heals the brokenhearted and bandages their wounds. He counts the stars and calls them by name. He gives food to the wild animals and feeds the young ravens when they cry. He sends snow like white wool and scatters frost upon the ground like ashes.

These psalms sing out His praises–calling all creation to join in the song. Praise the Lord!

Praise you, Lord.

It’s a joyous cry, a mourning wail, or a fearful awe.

What do you have that God hasn’t given you? And if everything you have is from God, why boast as though it were not a gift? 1 Corinthians 4:7b NLT.

Lord, the more I praise you, the more I become aware: it’s all from you. Heartache or delight. This earth, the heavens, my heart–a canvas to display your power and love. I pray I see the gifts of every day, and praise you for each and every one. Thankful you hold it all together.

Courtney (66books365)

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