Some days I wake up and feel the weight of the aching world upon this little chest of mine. I don’t even know where all the angst is coming from. Is it really that bad, or do I just need some breakfast?

My children need a hundred things from me. How did they become so awake in just five minutes and need all these things? Someone starts to scream. Someone’s kicking someone. Someone just stole someone else’s chocolate milk. Someone says they are NOT going to the library with the rest of us today. Someone’s hiding in the closet. That sounds like a good idea to me.

I sigh.

I need a hundred things from God. Like hope, comfort, energy for these little ones, and a protein breakfast, just to name a few.

Mostly I just want to be held.

Is that too much to ask from the Maker of the world? Couldn’t He just show up in this room so I can see Him? So I could crawl into His arms? Feel the warmth of His heart and listen to the rhythmic beating? Could I just hear Him audibly? Whispering gentle words into my nervous, anxious places?

He doesn’t give me what I’m asking for. Instead I’m walking here by faith and I’ve got these questions. Like, God, do You really love me?

Somehow He shows up in my dark. Talks kindly to my restless heart. He points to the cross back there on the timeline of history and I remember. There’s a God who suffered. A God who can relate to me.

I read it slowly now, to soak it in:

He was looked down on and passed over,
    a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand.
One look at him and people turned away.
    We looked down on him, thought he was scum.
But the fact is, it was our pains he carried—
    our disfigurements, all the things wrong with us.
We thought he brought it on himself,
    that God was punishing him for his own failures.
But it was our sins that did that to him,
    that ripped and tore and crushed him—our sins!
He took the punishment, and that made us whole.
    Through his bruises we get healed. (from Isaiah 53)

Jesus laid down His life, poured out His blood, because He loved me. He did His best for me. Gave me all that He had. Just in case I ever wondered.

Still I wish to feel His skin. I think about how He chose to work with humanity. The way that we would  feel Him here, is through the limbs of another. I do feel Him here through Brent. And my kids, they need to know that God is in this place, too. They drive me mad sometimes with all their being unkind to each other. All their wailing over ridiculous things. It wears me out and I give in. I scream and yell, too. But, the Spirit whispers. “No. Don’t yell. Don’t throw anything. Just hold them. Sit down. Take some breaths. Put your face close to their face. Your arms around their arms. Rock them now. Let them feel your heart. This is Me in you.”

I feel God, too, through them. Their hands reaching up for me.

There is grace to begin again.  I’ll be patient with my wily kids. It’s time for breakfast and they squeal. They’d rather make a tent in the living room. But, I know what they need. They need nourishment so they can stay alive. Still, they run away. They’re off to find the flashlights.

God, thank You for these kids.
Thank You for these fried eggs.
I think I’ll pour another cup of coffee now.
I believe in You.
Did you hear that?
I believe in You.

I’m like Jacob who fell asleep with his head upon a stone and woke up, startled that God was in the place where he was. He was surprised because he had thought God would be much more obvious. He thought God would be part of the things he could see. While he was wide awake, trying to scratch out a living, he was oblivious to God’s reality.  So, God came to him in his sleep.  Jacob arose from his slumber and named that place Bethel. It means God’s House. (Genesis 28:10-22)

It’s faith that gives us eyes that see. The art in my window. My friend points it out to me–there’s a tendril man lifting up one foot–dancing.

God, You are here and I believe. This is me making space for you. My feelings are tricky so I tell them the truth. My reality is that I am loved and You are with me in this ordinary place. Together, we’ll bring heaven here.

Lord, I’ll be Your house.