Standing over the kitchen sink, I run cleansing water over the dirty dishes. My daughter brings more porcelain to be cleaned. Lipstick smeared glasses, greasy pans. More and more. Cleaning the dirty. Will it ever end?
My daughter’s sweet hand scrapes across the dish. I envision her tiny hands, like the cherished day was just yesterday. Chubby thumbs pressed determinedly to all four tiny fingers, fingertips on hands bumping together repeatedly, requesting more. Quiet souls needing more and letting it be known. Teaching my girls that sweet sign language word had to be the smartest thing I ever did. I wish I could take credit, but I’ll forever love that wise friend.
Sitting at a table full of children who were crying and screaming to receive something desired, my daughter would look around at the chaos and quietly and gently press her tiny gathered fingers together, signaling “more” … more Cheerios, more apple juice, more.
Her tender, quiet spirit blessed my heart.
O Soul, you’ve always had a problem with more. You know you have. An uncontrolled chuckle spurts out. Undeniable. “Give her an inch, and she’ll take a mile.” Guilty.
I could never stop at planting one flower. Nope. I’ll know every flower name. I no longer put my hands down to work a garden.
One framed cross-stitch led to a house full. They’ve all been dismantled and rest in my closet.
I could never stop at one cookie. I just can’t keep them in the house.
I can’t stop with one Pringle. I’ll snack on them all day.
I could never stop at using one coupon. My whole family thanks me for giving up that venture.
I could never stop making Mickey Mouse pancakes. When a desire for pancakes was revealed, I made pancakes every day until I was begged to stop.
I could never stop with taking one picture. Don’t place the camera in my hands, please.
I could never stop with one trip to Disney World. The girls have been every year since they were six and eight.
I could never stop at writing. One blog post led to three manuscripts down, and one in the works.
If I find a song I love, I will play it over and over.
O Soul, you know how to drive something in the ground. Don’t you? You know how to make everyone around you cry for relief.
I rinse off a dish and place it in the dishwasher. A smile spreads over my face, thinking over my secret new mission—being accepted on the launch team for Beth Moore’s new Bible study, Entrusted.
O Soul, you found the one thing that you can never tire of—studying God’s Word. You can never have too much. You can never study too much. You can never have more than enough.
The one who breathed life into you can’t be run into the ground.
At only 29, my first Beth Moore study gave me a deep love to study and soak in God’s truths. God’s truths are life for me, teaching me that I can survive in this world, that I’m okay. She made God’s Word come alive for me. I saw a lady who genuinely loved God so much, that I said to myself—
I want to love God that much.
My daughter’s precious 16-year-old hand passes the last dish to wash. More. Father, let her see more of you in me. Let her see something that she can’t get enough of. Let this walk with you, as weak as it often is, be just enough to cause her to want more and more of you.
Father, thank you for entrusting my daughter in my hands. I’ve gotten so much wrong. But you are my right. My right for more. I keep bringing you more and more, the dirt in my life is endless. And you never tire of me. You keep cleansing me and making me new.
In the midst of this world’s chaos, with all the outcries and screams, you have taken us to the banquet hall. Your love over us is breath-taking.
Father, be our desire, the very thing we desperately need. Our one stronghold. Our greatest love. Be our addiction, the one thing we quietly cry for in the secret room of our heart. Be our cry for relief. Be our ever-waking desire, our first and last thought of the day. The thing we can’t outdo. The thing we can’t overdo.
Father, be our more. Our cleansing more.