Passing Notes

Lord, every day I must be reminded of your character, for as the day wears on my souls wears out and at noon you are only mostly-good, at dinner you are a kind old man, and at twilight, who are you? You are just a cosmic shadow, present only in a very unreal way.

But then you slip me a note in the mornings as we sit over coffee and oatmeal. Sometimes the note-bearer is the prophet Jeremiah, he may be the herald. Or sometimes John Ortberg brings me the note and slips it under my breakfast bowl. Or sometimes it is C.S., or Lucy Maude, or Buechner... It doesn't matter exactly who brings it; it matters that it's from you.

And so I open the note warily, unsure it will be interesting. Or I read it expecting to be bored. And every day I read it I realize what a fool I am--because it is always filled with joy! It is filled with the most beautiful words by the most beautiful mind that has ever or will ever exist! They are words of hope, of life, of remembrance. And it is like a light bulb goes off and I remember.

I remember with all joy that you are good. That you are exactly the one I have been hoping for, and that your character is all that I could ever desire. How lovely it is to remember that the one you love is lovely. To remember that the one who loves you is so truly loveable--the epitome of all hopes and desires.

So this morning John Ortberg slipped me your note, and as my eyes skimmed over letters, words, sentences, I was enlivened, overjoyed, and so grateful for you. You are everything good. What a forgetful child. Remind me always, Lord. Speak, and speak eternally.

Amen.