The Word of Life wrote it all through His Word, each day is a beautiful miracle. My Lord holds all my days in His hands, gifting them to me as a single flower, not a whole bouquet.
He knows me, my Creator. The smell, color, wonder of each flower lost in the vast array. One gentle bloom grasped, held appreciated in uncluttered hands. Fingers caressing silky petals, deep breaths inhaling God’s perfume.
Father slowly placing the exquisite present in my hands, His strokes of grace and love painted in intricate details. Bright shades mixing with darker tones, gift of life drawing me to Life.
He gives me today, tomorrow beyond my reach, yesterday fading. He waits for me, patiently searching my eyes. It’s my choice, accepting today as He made it. Perhaps the bloom is smaller than I hoped, the colors muted. Still He waits.
Mothers watching children ravaged by cancer close their eyes one last time. They cry out for one more today. One more day to love, to hold. Hearts left empty yearning for a soft kiss, crooked drawings.
I open my hands, touching His wounded hands in the exchange. He entrusts me with His offering, growing from blood drenched soil, He desires new buds. I’m not my own, He is my Savior, my Reedemer.
The Master coming someday, maybe today. Hidden behind mounds of laundry, pulling up clean sheets, laughing with children, He will find me. His questions penetrating excuses, He gave His life for my today.
His words uncovering the truth of my minutes, given to others or buried in holes of selfishness, discontentment.
My Creator places His creativity in me. He knows the secret of making something out of nothing, taking the ordinary and the amazing appearing. He yearns to whisper His ideas, open the treasure chests of heaven.
Scribbled notes on paper, His creativity flooding over me. Today is His day, I choose His bloom offering, offering it up to others.
Red plate saved for birthdays and anniversaries, dusted off, laid at my husband’s place for dinner on a Wednesday evening. He worked with diligence to provide for our family, we can celebrate.
Buying snow cones on a spring day. Children practiced soccer with concentration and determination, we can celebrate.
Sending a friend a picture I found tucked away in a long forgotten box. We walked together as children, we can celebrate.
Washing dishes He reminds me of His presents. He provides the food, I eat with my family, not alone. With soap and water rising, I can celebrate.
Walking around the neighborhood, eyes drinking in the colors of spring. Cameras capturing hidden miracles, we can celebrate.
Children tucked in clean sheets, mother singing songs in the night. Jesus is holding each one, we can celebrate.
Day turned into night, it is still today. Ordinary minutes in most ways, yet a flower of love from my Savior.
It is life, I can celebrate.
Photography copyright © by Jane Carole Stein