Blessed are those whose strength is in you, who have set their hearts on pilgrimage.~Psalm 84:5 (NIV)

This morning I'm mopping in increments. Dividing up the floor space to slide the mop into all the crevices where the dirt has mounded and hidden. In pieces I make progress, the wooden floor like little squares of Scrabble tiles. The task is almost as satisfying as making words when I play that venerated game. Perhaps this is how God works in my life, increment by increment, massaging His oil into my heart, working out the dry, cracked places, creating powerful words of "peace" and "beauty" and "strength" with His Kingdom Scrabble squares.  God, my loving Father, reminds me that my life is not about doubling down to try and figure things out, but rather receiving and absorbing His aromatic love and affection. His light.

I find it difficult to relax. I say so often, "God, it would seem more wholesome to strive, to struggle. That mode feels so much more acceptable, more respectable, more satisfying somehow, than releasing myself to the unconditional validation you have for me. It is difficult to take in that your grace is that broad, that you don't condemn, nor do you browbeat me into compliance."  Yet how can I think that of you?

I think it is because I possess a deep-seated conviction that I must prove myself worthy of your affection, to inhabit some kind of lofty eligibility in order to be near you. And yet even a human parent would not require this of their beloved child. That parent would run to embrace the child out of richness and abundance of love in their hearts for a son or daughter.

Oh, God, break off this ingrained belief from me. Mop it up. Carry away the debris that clings to my heart. Let my heart shine, polished by your pure love. Like my floors, now gleaming, the sun pouring in the windows, the scent of soap and spirit and gladness enveloping me.