O Lord, thank You for grandsons whose energy output could light Chicago. You know that not too long ago, I easily outraced them. Now, however, my slow legs and weighty derriere always bring up the rear. OMG, even the two-year-old — especially, the two-year-old! — leaves me in the dust.
O Lord, reading about Your feeding 5,000 people with a little bread and fish, I’m amazed by Your kindness. Your miracles. Yet, an ordinary mom or grandma probably baked those loaves. OMG, aren’t You glad she didn’t forget and let them rise way too long, unlike … um, some people You know?
O Lord, You know that for millennia, singers and writers have celebrated Your moon’s romantic beauty. Others, though, likened it to cheese, croissants, and cookies. 1950s singer Dean Martin even viewed the moon as a “big pizza pie.” OMG, it’s difficult for a dieter to stay starry-eyed when her stomach’s growling. …
O Lord, with the COVID-19 crisis, my oldest grandchildren have practiced and marched in their bedrooms so they could perform for family and friends. OMG, if I followed You as carefully as they follow their directors, perhaps I, too, might help create something beautiful. And I probably wouldn’t collide with as many tubas.
O Lord, Thank You that You made me a writer and, I hope, a conduit of good stuff to my readers. But sometimes, on tough writing days like this, I wonder: OMG, maybe I should have been a plumber?
O Lord, I’m so thankful. Yesterday, for the first time since the COVID-19 outbreak, our church choir, including Hubby and I, could join the angels in singing Your praises. We had to wear masks, and the angels didn’t. But OMG, what a joy to worship You together!
O Lord, my grandchildren believe I’ve been around since forever. One asked if I knew Betsy Ross. But You truly have been around since forever. OMG, thank You for offering Your expert help to all of us navigating our senior years. Not to mention, our forever!
O Lord, thank You for zinnias, which I plant every year because they add flower fireworks to my yard; rarely have to be fed or watered; and finally, OMG, thank You for making them tall enough to hide my almost-September garden from the neighbors.
O Lord, in the past, when nearby school playground noise resembled Bastille Day, I prayed for teachers — and slammed the window shut. But this morning, after months of ghostly silence on our block, OMG, I feel like throwing it open. And throwing confetti!
O Lord, it’s a tough world right now. But OMG, thank You for a new purple hat and other silly blessings that give us grins!