Morning musings with Papa and praying Isaiah 61:1 . . .
"You are enough. In all things. You are enough.
"More than enough.
"Abundantly, filled-to-overflowing enough. Beyond measure enough. More-than-I-can-begin-to-imagine enough.
"Lord, Father-God . . . rest Your Spirit on me; let it pour over me as anointing oil over my head. Bring good news to the poor in spirit -- Good News! Glad-tidings-of-joy, Joy-to-the-world News! -- through me. Bind up the brokenhearted through me. Bring light into darkened eyes, break chains, unlock prison doors through me . . . set the captives free . . . through me."
If I'm honest, introvert that I am (or just lazy?), on many days (if not most days), I want to remain in my leopard print pajamas (yes, Beverly, I do own pajamas; I wear them to coffee dates with Papa), wrapped up in my fleecy red blanket (snuggled up in His arms) on my couch, safe from schedules, looming deadlines (grades due at 4PM; ugh), poor choices -- mine and others' -- and, oh yeah, their consequences (weenie that I am), AND people. Safe from people, with their wants, their hurts, their messiness, their grasping and clinging and their rejecting and pushing away . . . safe from my own words and theirs . . .
But, alas, He has not called me to dwell on a mountaintop or in a cave . . . I'm neither Heidi nor the Fat Broad. I'm Saint Pamela, sometimes called to Africa, but mostly called to Seabrook.
"So empower me to serve from a place of abundance in You. Fill me, overflow from me, surround me, go ahead of me, hem me in from above and behind, and don't leave my side.
"Use me up, Papa . . . pour me out into the world You love so much because every drop of me is Yours to spill.
"And don't stop reminding me that because You are enough, through your extravagant grace and mercy, You make me enough."