Today, I want to put into words the things You have been bringing my eyes too, through the words of other Saints and Your own Holy Spirit. I want to give thanks for all the ways You are Infinite.
{92} Infinitely sized: I am, far to often, guilty of limiting You to the best notion I have of You. I make You a God that fits into my pocket—a God that I compare to the ocean, even though there's an opposite shore to those waters that I can comprehend.** But You have given me glimpses, dear Lord, of how Your universe reflects You—how we never have nor, most likely, ever will see the edge of the starry heavens. Let me keep my eyes fixed on the endless You, so I may never see You as smaller than my troubles and dreams.
{93} Infinitely detailed: In the falling leaves or flurrying snowflakes, if I stop to look, I can get a glimpse of how You are. How this beautiful thing is even more breathtaking when you get close enough to see the veins of life or the crystallized patterns. And, in that, I can see the God that is not only sized bigger than our endless universe, but also more detailed than the atomic construction of our world. Not only will we never see the edge of You, but we can never, even with a microscope, know You well enough to know every detail. And that is why life, even the endless life hereafter, will never bore. Because You will be our everything, and there will always be something new to see and learn of You.
{94} Infinitely beautiful: What are the words to describe it? They're abundant, among Your creation. Those leaves and snowflakes, or the rolling turquoise waves of the oceans and the white dusted green peaks of mountains in the golden summer sunshine. And that is not even beginning to look at the less tangible—the way of an artist with his paintbrush on canvas or the sway of a violinist on her strings. The laugh of a baby. The tears of a grandmother. All these, only mere reflections. Praise God for the hope of the day we aren't looking in mirrors any more, but straight into Your beauty: face to face.
{95} Infinitely gracious: In so many ways. Grace to forgive all of us, for every daily sin. Grace to hold us together, despite the tearing of temptation, sorrow, and human love. Grace to cuddle us, when we are crying in the pain of our own making. Grace to warm us from our woes with thoughts of You, Your gifts, and Your promises of what is to come. Grace to create this world You knew we would make a mess of. Grace to love us, always, and so wonderfully without condition.
{96} Infinitely generous: Always giving, even when You know it is a gift we shall turn up our nose at, in our human ignorance. Giving opportunities: places to run our races and reach our victories. Giving relations, always handing out chances to meet new people or grow closer to the familiar ones. Giving us senses, physical and non, and opening them by Your Spirit, so we might see all the reflections of You that You present every day. Giving trials or discipline, despite our protests, because You know better—know the need in ways we cannot.
{97} Infinitely challenging: Sometimes by the giving of trials and discipline, and sometimes in other ways. It can be anything: a person who does not share our view, an obstacle that blocks our goals, or the ancient tussle of wrestling our will against Yours. Help us revel in the joy of that: a life that is never boring, and always challenging. Renew us daily, so we might have enough mind to see You are not a divine prankster, laughing at us, but a Mother weaning us from milk, and the Father putting us to task, making us push our boundaries and smiling at us when we do what we thought we could not. Give us grace to wrestle with genuine struggle and desire to understand, and protect us from the bitterness so readily supplied by the devil and our own sinful natures.
{98} Infinitely inspiring: Thank You, Elyon, for being unsatisfied in existing as the sole artist. Let us never forget You are the only Creator, but help us to be endlessly eager in our ability to imitate, to make things of what Your provide. Thank You for always giving me more to see, feel, and dream. Thank You for attaching the endless stream to my soul: the flow of images, feelings, and tales that cling to me. I will never not be grateful for this gift of Yours—protect me from pride that might lose sight of how it is not mine. Even when it is heavy, it is always beautiful.
{99} Infinitely present: Praise God for never leaving us lonely. For provide Himself always, as protector, confidant, and family. Forgive me for when I lose sight and trick myself into thinking that I need more.
{100} Infinitely patient: After the past years, I'm not sure if there is anything I love more about You, Elyon. The greatest assurance of my life is the consistency of Your Cross, always there at the moments of needed confession, no matter what number of repetition it is. Help me to think always on that, on You, so that temptation may become something that loses power, utterly drowned out by the rain of You, surrounding me.
*Just in case there's any reader who don't already know, Elyon is something I use like my own personal name for God. While based on one of the Hebrew ways of addressing God (EL ELYON [el-el-yohn]: “Most High"), it's something that I took on, at some point in my life, as my own version of "Abba," calling God in a way that is personal and meaningful to me.
**I want to give credit to where it is due for this thought. It's something I came across in a chapter of "I Don't Wait Anymore," a wonderful book by Grace Thornton. I would highly recommend it to anyone, though it is especially applicable to single women of God college age and (even more particularly) above.
