What difference does it make? She pondered this question as she sat in her garden admiring the vivid greens and the birds singing. It’s that perfect time of year in Virginia. The weather is just the right temperature, a slight breeze, and the mosquitoes haven’t taken over. Her senses are filled with the smells and sounds of springtime. She imagines new possibilities where a tree was removed in the winter, and she discovers that, although her heart is weighted down, spring has a way of reminding the world and her that life has a rhythm of planting, sewing, dying, and renewal. It’s the perspective of the daily hustle and fears that build up colliding with the song of nature.
She aches to know the reason behind words spoken, actions, and the mundane, like walking up and down a grocery aisle verses having your groceries delivered. The privilege to have the choice, and the gratitude of provision and access. Facing the decade of her 50s, she is well aware of the moments and days adding up to where she is in this very moment which begs the question, “What difference does it make?”
The word “it” is personalized. Maybe it’s the “it” of work, relationships, tasks, your spiritual walk, or your love for a pedicure in the summer just before the beach vacation. She just knows that her soul aches for an understanding. She reads a verse, “He is the overseer of your soul.” Just before that sentence is a reminder that humans are like sheep who stray away from their Shepherd–the overseer of her soul.
What do you see in my soul, God?
She prayerfully considers the possible answers as she sits in the quiet.
What difference does it make, my child? It’s not the difference that needs to be pondered. It’s simply the journey towards me and my endless, eternal love for you. I’m in all things great and small and therefore it all makes the difference. Remember that time you heard a child’s laughter and your hope was renewed? Or, how about that time you received a text or letter in the mail at just the right moment? I’m in the worship of a choir, a prison cell prayer, and the last breath of your daddy.
Sweet daughter, I know you’ve made mistakes and you are not who you thought you would be right now in this moment. You have expectations for self, others, and the world around you. I have a plan. You feel guilt and shame. I cover you with my love and say, “I love you just the way you are in this moment.” I have to tell you something that’s odd and goes against your need for control, but I have to remind you. You do make me laugh sometimes with your need for control. I use all things. I’m in all things. You will never fully understand this side of heaven. Never. I created you just the way you are for a reason and your life experiences have been our story, together, making a difference. So, my beautiful one, get up each day knowing that every breath you take makes a difference because I am the overseer and giver of the breath. I know you are hurting. Lean into my love and trust in something that is yet to be seen. Keep asking me questions. I love our prayer time. Always be curious, keep your sense of wonder, and, remember, I’m never surprised or taken off guard.
Love you daughter–We got this….
Oh, my Father, my daddy, who loves me endlessly, I love you so much.