GLORIAM DEO • Honor and Praise to the Maker of All Things

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Heather

Today, I am invited to lunch by my daughter, Heather.

I listen to her intently, with admiration. I, the weathered old step-father, regard my daughter with awe.

We speak quietly, she elegantly sipping a small cup of soup, I wolfing a burger and fries, unguarded.

She is gracious and tolerant, I am aware.

How is it that I, an unpolished pebble, should have been chosen by the Maker of All Things to know such a magnificent blessing as this young woman who is my daughter?

My Lord, You are very generous with me, I know.

You touch me on the shoulder. You speak to me quietly.

Your strong, steady light around me opens new insight.

You pierce my heart.

I know it is You. It is always You.

You are true north.

In Heather’s presence today, I am reminded of a poem, written by a very nice lady who lives in Santa Fe, New Mexico.

Her words are a blessing also.

Our Children

Our children are like flowers to us.
Each one different.
Each one beautiful.
Each one growing strong with us.

Our children are like stars to us.
Each one sparkles.
Each one moves through the universe.
Each one closer to the heart of us.

Our children are like life to us.
Each one precious.
Each one unpredictable.
Each one having to let go of us.

— Poems by Nancy Wood, Spirit Walker