"It's like we're in the mouth of God," whispered the little girl, tiny fingers tightly grasping the hand of her Daddy. The early hours of this Jerusalem morning were the kind of quiet that could rival the stillest parts of heaven. A thick mist hovered over the earth, touching everything in sight. As if the clouds had abandoned the sky just to be with her.
This is the love of God, wrapping itself around the innocence of childhood. A moment so pure that even the battering of years of life cannot crush it. And in that memory, a reminder. That the same breath the God of everything spoke the world into existence with, also breathed this one tiny and infinitely valuable life into being with. A life the Creator deemed necessary and worthy. Because without her, the earth and all it holds would not be complete.
Nothing has ever been or ever will be that could fill the space her singular heart and mind occupy.
She was born from the perfect mouth of God and He would use this moment as a life long lesson in the tangible. Like the miracle working God of the Old Testament. She would reference it in later days.
It defined her.
It gave her purpose.
Not the kind of purpose we become mislead by as status seeking adults; Lives driven and motivated by deeds and accomplishments. No, not purpose so far removed from the original meaning given to it by God that the distance back seems unreachable. So far that instead we find ourselves later in life having forgotten who we are and asking the question,
"Why was I created?"
Somehow the little child becomes the grown-up who has fallen in line with a life marred by the fiction that our value and purpose are to be worked for. Earned. Attained. Like an Olympic athlete driven for gold.
When in actuality, she is the gold that medals are made of.
Without her there would be no prize. Instead, we ARE and always were the small child coming from the breath of God. The infinitely valuable person whose true purpose has only ever been this one thing: To love God and be loved by Him.