We are sanctified and loved and free.
And my oldest goes to her daddy,
sits in a chair behind him as he plays
the bass guitar,
her heart moved by the proximity of the drums
and the deep notes
and I pray that the words flowing around
her find a place to root in her heart.
And my youngest climbs into my lap,
back in the safety of our pew,
the crushed velvet underneath us,
and I hold her tight,
and she never complains about my singing voice,
my just clings to me tighter,
and I wonder how many years we have left do do this.
And then the words of the song,
Oh How He Loves Us,
begin to penetrate my soul,
and I wrap her more tightly,
and I pray,
Oh God, may she know...
May she understand...
May she feel...
the extent of your love,
how it never fails,
always holds tight,
a hand out to us.
And I close my eyes and wrap my spirit around hers,
and I pray,
may she never find a substitute for You,
Fill her heart, Lord, may it overflow with the rush of You.
May she see how your love is different than anything
else contained in this world.
And I whisper,
Do you know, Hannah...
Do you know how much He loves you?
And she shakes her head.
And I pray...
And I whisper again,
So, so much, sweet girl.
Always and forever.