But God knows March 14, 2022
Matthew 10:29-31 But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. And the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows.
Matthew cites Jesus calling God his Father 45 times (Mark only 5; Luke 18 times). Why do you think Matthew paid so much attention to this? I would love to know your thoughts—you can write them in the Comments.
Most often, Jesus calls God “your Father,” as he does here. Read the verse again and then close your eyes for a moment. Can you imagine Jesus coming to you, right now, today, and saying these words to you?
Don’t be afraid. You are valuable to God. Don’t be afraid. Your Father knows. You matter to him. He notes even the smallest details of your life.
What do you want to tell your Father? What are you afraid of? Can you offer your fears to your Father, and then be still, receiving his peace?
“I cannot clutch this peace,” wrote Karis in one of her poems.* No, this is a daily transaction with our Father, clearing our souls of fear, letting his Presence touch and comfort us, re-centering into his peace. A transaction of trust. Imagine yourself as a small child, burrowing into the comfort of your Father’s lap.
A song for Ukraine: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=duOnmlJuNJQ
Don’t be afraid of those who want to kill your body; they cannot touch your soul (Matthew 10:28).
*The poem “Caçula,” which means in Portuguese the youngest child of a family.
5 thoughts on “What do you want to tell your Father today?”
This morning I am worried to a point of anxiety and desperation because I am unable to reach staff responsible for the care of a loved one at a facility who I think is not taking proper care of her. She is declining rapidly before my very eyes and I ask myself why can’t they see it also. After all, isn’t that their job? Isn’t that why she is there? But I can’t seem to get them to see that. Today’s reading reminds me of the Great Healer. God sees her. God counts each hair on her grey head. God hears the congestion in her lungs. God sees her send back the untouched meals. God knows how the bruise came to her forehead. No one comes to her room but the people who deliver her untouched meals. I can sit with her and tell her about God’s love for her and share the soothing music that comes from the television. God surrounds us both. God is richer and more comforting than any staff or nurse or aide. God blesses each of us together. We are two sparrows in the care of our Creator.
I hear you, Meredith. So hard. What a blessing your friend has YOU.
Thank you for the constantly reminder of Gods great love!
I got curious about the poem ‘Caçula’ that Karis wrote, where can I find it? I would love to read it.
Here you go. Karis and her younger sisters moved from the trampoline to a game of croquet, Karis lying flat for both.
“The quality of mercy is not strained,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath; it is twice blessed;
It blesses him that gives and him that takes.”
William Shakespeare, “Merchant of Venice”
Ear to the flat black
of the trampoline
without the strength to raise it.
And you my younger sisters bound,
On your bare feet.
You wash mine. With your tears.
Couch my feet in springs. Living water let–
Sprung rhythm: one stress makes a foot
right by my head, and
I like to imagine you
wild, abandoned to flips and waist-length
but it isn’t so:
You are tied to my weight,
careful not to break my neck as I fall, laughing limp.
Eye-level with metal arches
I level with the possibility of another black
eye. Cheek lashed with grass marks,
eyes lashed long golden, pricked with wind antics
and sister glee, and my own semantics
turned to puns; Rutabaga stories retold
in all the voices. Three of you play and banter back
is me weak on my back,
peeking from a badger-mask of blue-circled eyes.
Here again you’re
careful with your
heavy colored balls on the lawn
I’m boneless plastered to.
I not green. I in part the lovely blue
I eye. Sky.
I cannot clutch this peace.
Like our sister’s lice
We’ll always one of us have it to give to the others.
Am metal and wait for light-
ening as your sky darkens. I’ll ground you.
Grace descends, as all descends, through grave
ity. Why do we say peace falls, and evening lowers?
my hair down and it descends,
a vertical form of river,
in swells and curves—
not condescension but a true descent.
The dog and ants in unison over me;
To former, I mean bound! to latter, boundary.
Both up, both over.
And their up and over, like your glow—
the pain of me so concentrated close to you
and you untouched—
is miracle to me
it is too much
and is my strength.
July, 1999 (age 16)
Though she was the eldest, Karis often felt like the youngest (caçula) because of her illness.