There is a God who always ever was and He weaves His Story into our days. This same God who conducts the wind, who made the moss grow rampant beneath the maples, the One who fills up heaven, He also dwells here with us, in our one fleeting life.

And these days, all these running together days, though chocked full of common, ordinary, seemingly insignificant moments, are not some erratic succession of events, a mere twenty four hours in which we plod along and aimlessly exist. No, these days, each and every one of them is brimfull of meaning and purpose. Today matters because the God who exists is alive and well and He is not confined to church houses or sacred assemblies, but He is found here in all the gritty, humdrum slices of life.

 

He calls Himself the great I AM. Doesn’t that make this moment and the next, pregnant with God? And if so, doesn’t that make the ordinary sacred?  Because when I’m over the laundry and scrubbing the commode for the umpteenth time, or tending to little ones or muddling through my relationships, I need to know that all is not vain. The abiding Presence of a holy God makes this moment and these tasks swell with significance. God is here with me. He is always here with me. I am living life with Him.

 

God is painting and He is crafting and His artistry is found in every crook and cranny throughout the whole of His creation. Is that not His fingerprints upon my children, His loving heart beating in my husband’s chest? And isn’t that His handiwork there–the corn on the trailer and the light in the trees?

So, I go about a new day and I do not forget.

But, lest I forget, He shouts it loud. So that all along my one fleeting life, as I go grappling around in the shadow lands, searching for His face, some notion of grace in a fallen messed up world, I have only to barely reach out and find Him here. The great I AM, He is. Just right here. Standing near and bending close so that I can take hold of Him.

Surely He isn’t far from each one of us, this God who weaves His story into our days. I read the lines and the words ring a message loud and clear. The Writer of this narrative is a God who wants to be found.