How Does God Feel About Me?
- Max Lucado Author
- 2004 2 Aug
A few years back, we had a banner year at our house. Our third daughter learned how to swim. That meant that three could walk. Three could swim. And two out of the three had the training wheels off their bikes. With each achievement they have delightedly pointed out, "Look, Dad, I can do it on my own." My wife, Denalyn, and I have applauded and celebrated each accomplishment our daughters have made. Their maturity and mobility is good and necessary, but I hope they never get to the point where they are too grown up to call their daddy.
God feels the same way about us.
Other times we don't feel independent; we feel insignificant. We think, "Sure, Mary can take her problems to Jesus. She's his mother. He doesn't want to hear my problems. I don't want to trouble him with my messes."
If that is your thought, may I share with you a favorite verse of mine? I like it so much I wrote it on the first page of my Bible.
"Because he delights in me, he saved me." (Ps. 18:19)
And you thought he saved you because of your decency. You thought he saved you because of your good works or good attitude or good looks. Sorry. If that were the case, your salvation would be lost when your voice went south or your works got weak. There are many reasons God saves you: to bring glory to himself, to appease his justice, to demonstrate his sovereignty. But one of the sweetest reasons God saved you is because he is fond of you. He likes having you around. He thinks you are the best thing to come down the pike in quite awhile. "As a man rejoices over his new wife, so your God will rejoice over you." (Isaiah. 62:5)
If God had a refrigerator, your picture would be on it. If he had a wallet, your photo would be in it. He sends you flowers every spring and a sunrise every morning. Whenever you want to talk, he'll listen. He can live anywhere in the universe, and he chose your heart. And the Christmas gift he sent you in Bethlehem? Face it, friend. He's crazy about you.
From A Gentle Thunder; Copyright 1995 Max Lucado.
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