Despicable without Christ

My youngest daughter lives up to her name pure joy. If I am curious about her state of happiness, all I have to do is observe her wiggly feet. Gladness is somehow wired to the crescendo of her foot tremors.

When God sprinkled seeds of glee, she must have caught a ton. Sometimes one gets introduced to a remarkable person and their presence changes your mood with unexplained brisk. I just seek to be a better person when she is around.

I guess it's all about the essence of purity. When we behold what is pristine, our shadows somehow flee. That is probably why I miss her a lot. Who does not crave incandescence?

Her vocation is design. She is currently finishing school at FIT NYC, while working as artisan for a major fashion group. Etched conspicuously in both forearms is a lovely tattoo that betrays the vertical extent of her cover: I am Yours. You are Mine. (Isaiah 54:5)

Her love for Christ defines who she is.

Just this Christmas, she was in her usual cavernous chat with her Mom. The conversation took on a deep reflective trek. They both went rehearsing their stories of life and prequel. With casual poise, she told my wife: "Mom, you always see me as your perfect child. You need to know that I am not." Perceptively, she got this response: "Honey, you will forever remain a perfect child in our eyes. There is absolutely nothing that you do, will do, or have done that will ever change that."

The words of the prophet reflect the personal sting: "we are all unclean ... all we do are like filthy rags." But the news that shatter this stigma hauls all our every smut towards the unfathomable incinerator of Christ's available forgiveness. No wonder, as we receive this grace, we are enabled to experience unabridged joy.

This is so true in Kara's life. No wonder, I am always deeply honored each time she is joyfully around.