Particular

candycanes

She’s so particular. Everything she sees, the way she sees it. Everything she does, the way she does it.

She sits in the living room in her chair. Her fork – the only one she’ll use – is placed on one side and a paper plate of dry Cheerios on the other.

Popsicle and iPad in hand,

her blue blanket is draped across her shoulders.

Her backpack at her feet serves as a trusty foot rest,

Her TV nursery rhymes play on repeat.

Me, sitting beside her, my arms tucked around her waist, her pinky locked with my thumb.

This, every detail of this, is how she relaxes.

A bath is not a bath until she’s squeezed half the bottle of liquid soap onto her belly as if getting an ultrasound.

The toothpaste cap must be in the right spot on the counter before teeth brushing can commence.

Lights should be off in the kitchen *while* cooking.

In the morning at the therapy center, a certain chair must be sat upon before she can proceed with her day.

She meticulously constructs and follows many more patterns each day, taking comfort in her routines. If the circle is broken or things re-arranged, I believe she feels the disorder deep inside as seeks to restore the one missing piece. I’m amazed by her mind, how she navigates the world, how she misses nothing.

The study of Rhema is always a page-turner.

As I try to keep up with the myriad fine points of all that is my girl, God tells me of His love for her, for us so detailed, so particular.

How He knit her in my womb, made her bottomless brown eyes, dotted her lip and painted her skin like a mocha frappe. How He gave her a song as sweet as angels.

Before I formed you, I knew you. Before you were born I had holy plans for you. You are perfectly, marvelously meant to be.

How He keeps every tear in a bottle, each ache is written in His book. He tracks every detail and counts the hairs on her head. He watches over her comings and goings. Whether she goes down to the depths or rises on the wings of the dawn, He is already there.

How Love, measureless, incomparable Love came down in human form, in poverty, as a baby in a dirty stable. All for her. All for us. To be with us. To rescue us. To give His life as a ransom for mine/ours so that we can live forever free.

He’s so particular.

“What a mystery
That You notice me
And in a crowd on ten thousand
You don’t miss a thing.”
~Bethel Music

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8 thoughts on “Particular

  1. How beautiful. I read that psalm with those pronouns (she, her ) while lianna was in ICU. The first time I was back at my church after those many weeks away I was asked to read that Psalm in Sunday school. ( not planned by my earthly teacher) They let me read it with the feminine touch. I read it again yesterday in the feminine form at a bible study I was facilitating. I felt it was appropriate for all the women there as we study the armor of God. Especially the helmet of salvation.

  2. This is what I see in your story today…a mama so good to make sure every moment is what her baby needs, the sweet patience that says, “Your world is so difficult, I understand that you need things done this special way, and I will make it happen, no matter if it slows us down, no matter if it puts me out, no matter if it seems to me like it doesn’t make sense.” That’s the Father’s patience with us, allowing us what He knows makes things easier for us, going out of His way to make a way for us to survive the difficult.

  3. I am extra, super particular, too! Sometimes it bothers me if something can’t be just right, but most of the time it can be and it makes me very happy.

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