It sounds like a miracle, a nonsense – I know.
I’ve been puzzled about my live – and for such a time like that I always run to church, and just like miracles – a reading of scripture and also homily have showed me that God is there.
Like what happened today. I went to the church. The mass was given by an old priest from Canada. He replaced our parish priest who has been away for his long service leave to Netherlands since two weeks ago.
Those two are not my favorite. But then it was interesting me when the priest stressed on this part from the gospel: “But they did not understand what he was saying“.
I don’t understand what God was saying, and the priest reminds me of that today.
Today I learnt that all things in my life are as they are – signed by the hand of God: beautiful and save and precious. Even though I stumble and fall, God upholds my life. I am save.
At the end of his homily, the priest asked us to sing a children song. It says that each and everyone of us was perfectly created by God. We are wondrous Art that were signed by the hand of God. Yet he added his own version to that song: “We have been made as beautiful paintings by God, but some of paintings are still wet”.
Refer to this song, there will be no mistake on us (but sometimes we just don’t believe). We are precious to God – therefore God upholds our life, no matter what. Fullstop.
*biasa banget deh, kalo’ lagi susah aja – baru inget tuhan. maaf ya tuhan*
Ere you left your room this morning, did you think to pray? Did you sue for loving favor, as a shield today? Oh, how praying rests the weary! Prayer will change the night to day; so when life seems dark and dreary, don’t forget to pray. When you met with great temptation, did you think to pray? Did you claim the Holy Spirit as your guide and stay? When your heart was filled with anger, did you think to pray? Did you plead for grace that you might forgive another, who had crossed your way? When sore trials came upon you, did you think to pray? When your soul was bowed in sorrow, balm of Gilead did you borrow at the gates of day? Mary A. Kidder