It's all for glory.
Those are the words echoing around in my head this morning. I practice saying them aloud, interrupted by our neighbor's rooster, I try again.
It is all for glory.
These five words were the peace gifted to me for the month of November. The promise of what is to come, and the fulfillment of all things from the experiences of my lifetime.
The mundane and the most intimate, all for Glory.
I am not worthy, but have been entrusted. So with tears in my eyes, and soap suds on my finger tips I kneel down, honored to wash the feet of Christ each Monday, Wednesday and Friday. Praying silently as I do. Cleansing the wounds, distraught when my thumb grazes a fresh mark of disobedience. And the water runs red…
God, this can't be your glory!
Jesus come quickly…
And then, those same tears are wiped away by a child who has never had his own tears wiped away. It takes my breath away. I stay kneeled down, even after he is rinsed and running off. For just a moment longer, silent praise and thanksgiving. It is all I can do to stand-up and pull myself away.
For just a moment, His Kingdom came. It came through touch. Gentle heavenly touch that wasn't learned here on this soil…not in this slum.
•••
At twenty three, I continue to learn the truth I first learned at thirteen.
A different slum… the same God.
I'm not really bringing the Kingdom to these places.
I'm being shown the kingdom.
In the whispers, in the laughter, in the creation…
If I look hard enough, and stop long enough, I can see it.
His handiwork.
His glory.
Across languages, culture, and every doubt.
When I accept an invitation to join the least of these, I leave their presence more blessed, more loved, and more aware.
Every interaction, every moment is for His glory.
Past and present… what's brought me here and what I will take away, for His glory.
What I've learned and what I'm learning, for His glory.
