Not a Princess...An Angel!

Last week I had the bittersweet privileged of seeing my precious niece who lives far away. It was bitter because the family gathered together to bury my grandmother. Sweet, because we were able to share in our loss as a family, instead of separated by the long miles.

One afternoon I watched in awe as my niece sang her thoughts aloud and pranced about as if she didn't care who heard the melody of her play. I couldn't help but say a quiet, 'Thank you,' to my sweet Jesus for showing me the bounty of life, just after the fragility of another was laid to rest.

I called out to my niece, just wishing for a moment to tell her how magnificent she was; to express my joy in simply being near her. With a smile that woos the heart, my darling soloist ran across the living room and planted herself, head first, into my arms. Oh how delight shot through my spirit at the chance to hold onto a little piece of heaven!

"You are my beloved cherub!" I said. "Do you know that?" She grinned wide, as if those pretty teeth alone could solve all the worlds worries. And I believe they could. Then she looked me in the eyes, accepting my words even though she didn't know what they meant.

"Do you know what a cherub is?" I asked. With another smile shooting straight to my heart, she shook her head. "It means little angel. You're
my little angel, Esther." Oh the glee that washed over her face! She leaped across the room, scooped up her dolly, and twirled as if she was in a funnel of candy.

Then she continued playing as usual.

I watched her as long as I could, until I was called into the other room, doubting she even paid attention to what I said to her. The day and night came and left without another mention of cherubs, and soon my little piece of heaven was having sweet sleep in her cozy, canopy covered bed.

The next morning, the door to the room my nephew and I were playing in opened, and there was my cheery delight. "Good Morning, Princess!" I exclaimed, since she'd just come from her pink princess bed, in her pink castle room.

"I'm not a princess," she stated. "I'm an angel!" And oh how angelic she was!

I told her she was my beloved little angel, and she believed me. It was that simple.

So why is it that when God, our very creator, tells us we are the reflection of His glory (
2 Corinthians 3:18), we don't believe him? If my two year old niece can believe the words her Auntie tells her, an Auntie who did not create the world, a mere mortal who did not sacrifice her life for mankind, then why can't we believe God's words?

When people call you a sinner, repent, then tell them, "I'm not a sinner. I'm forgiven!" (1 John 2:12; Romans 4:7)

When your enemies call you a loser, say, "I'm not a loser. I'm more than a conqueror!" (Romans 8:37)

When the world says no one wants you, tell it, "I'm not unwanted. Even before He made the world, God loved me and chose me!" (Ephesians 1:4

When life convinces you no one cares, that no one is on your side, shout out, "Christ is on my side! He speaks to the father in my defense! He's at the right hand of God, interceding for ME!"
(1John 2:1; Romans 8:31, 33-34)

When you feel alone, remind yourself, "I'm not alone. God is with me always!"
(Matthew 28:20)

When you look through family albums and wonder why you have such a dysfunctional family, open your true family heritage and read the words, '
But you are a chosen people, a royal priesthood...a people belonging to God, that you may declare the praises of him who called you out of darkness into his wonderful light.' (1 Peter 2:9)

When you feel lost, tell yourself, "I'm not lost. His Word is a lamp for my feet! God knows the way that I take!" (Psalm 119:105; Job 23:10)

And when you believe y
ou're unlovable, cry out, "I'm not beyond love. Nothing can separate me from the love of God!" (Romans 8:37-39)

So b
e like my two year old niece, and when someone who loves you very much tells you something wonderful...believe them.

Can you believe God's words to you? I'd love to hear what's on your heart.


Monday Mourning

I can't quite catch my breath
in moments of sadness,
but oxygen comes in waves of joy
like the lyrics in the hymns you sang-
like the bellowing organ notes you played.

I am torn between grief, for you, my grandmother,
whose middle name matches mine,
but rejoicing that you're finally at peace
at the same time.

I said goodbye once,
when dementia carried you away.
Do I say goodbye again,
or celebrate your freedom
from confusions grip today?

I choose the latter.

I will fall back
on days of strawberry mash
and singing to the melody your fingers
danced on the piano
not so long ago.

I choose, celebration, over sorrow.