“There is no event so common place but that God is present within it, always hidden, always leaving you room to recognize Him or not to recognize Him.” - Fredrick Buechner
Earlier this year I read Ann Voskamp's book "One Thousand Gifts". This book is life-changing. And I don't mean that in any sort of metaphorical way at all. I mean, if you read it, and apply the lesson Ann seeks to teach, it WILL change your life. When you spend your day looking for things to be thankful for, it changes everything.
I spent a good many weeks doing just that. Noticing everything. Seeing everything as a gift or word or touch from God. And then one day this tiny, nagging though crept into my mind. "You're being ridiculous. That single purple clover in your yard is just a flower-nothing more." It seemed every time I felt that nudge of the holy, I would chastise myself for being silly. To be honest, I don't think that tiny thought originated with me. I think the Enemy takes issue with my efforts to embrace all of life.
So one night I was scrubbing the floor hands and knees style. I know. This is shocking in and of itself, but I really do DESIRE super clean floors. If I had time (or a maid) they'd be hands and knees clean all the time. Anyway. I was scrubbing the floor and listening to some Beth Moore devotionals on CD I picked up at the bookstore. To be honest, I can't remember what the main point of this particular devotional was, but in it she was describing a sunset she saw on her way home. And she said, "Sure, maybe someone else in my neighborhood needed to see that sunset, but here's the thing girls, we get to take it personally."
We get to take it personally.
The lone purple clover in my yard-I smiled the instant I saw it because I just felt like it was a message. If I am honest, I still have to work to chase away those thoughts of doubt when I have those moments all day long. When I walk outside and the sun is going down and the light in my yard looks mellow and peaceful and I feel Him. When I stumble upstairs feeling sad and frustrated, pouring my heart out to him so it doesn't spill out all over my family, and as I look out the window, I see a lone dear in my backyard-in the suburbs. When a walk along a trail of modern art turns into a moment of surrender and worship.
I can doubt. I can chalk it all up to chance. I can deride myself for being silly or for grasping. Or I can choose to see Him. I can choose to pick up my day's manna. I can choose to believe He sees me. And knows. And cares.
I can take it personally.