Seems I’m always organizing … sorting … making sense out of chaos. I think it a biblical activity. Especially in the early weeks of a new year, I re-order the pieces of my world … office, laundry room, a closet. Organizing helps me know where everything is … mostly … even if it’s in piles. If I can I name groups of things as God did in His creation. As I watch my sweet mother’s world get smaller and hear her miss things she once owned I wonder … what will happen one day to all my kids letters and notes … all the letters from my husband when we dated and the notes he’s written these forty-plus years … all the letters and cards from my parents and dear friends organized and named in cute little vintage suitcases? Will anyone want them … save them … find value in them as I have? Watching mom I realize one day these things precious to me will be forgotten or lost. Just the thought of that is sad.
He is the God of words for He is the Word. And He writes books, here on earth and certainly in Heaven for He has plainly told us so; “in your book were written … the days that were formed for me, (Ps 139:16). His all-knowledge includes an omniscient awareness of my little piles of treasured words penned by those He has given me … all my people.
How grateful I am that God is not just an accountant tracking numbers, dates and genealogies. He is a poet, a lover of purity and beauty. He is my Father, who sees the heart of His child, my child, and … I believe He treasures their simple pure expressions of love and devotion as much as I do.
Last week I read a story about Samuel Wesley. A pastor and father to two famous sons, Samuel wanted to write hymns to God for his own worship but also for his congregation to sing. But one day they were all lost, save one, when their house burned to the ground. I can’t imagine … how devastating … to lose all one’s work and every meaningful useful thing in life. Every evidence of Samuel’s love for God … gone. But was it? Might God have been saving copies of his beloved sons’ work in His infinite knowledge? Or did the creative seed Samuel tended bloom instead in his son Charles, author of 1000s of hymns?
As I sort and organize and keep … I remember. My Father who loves me knows me. He can be trusted with all that is important to me. And I do.