
Mary Cassatt, “Breakfast in Bed”, 1897
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Lord, a new year is upon us.
Help us.
Help us to be grateful.
Gracious and grateful.
Gracious, grateful, and giving.
You give and you take away.
Nothing but Your love is truly ours.
For love You give and love You never take away.
Love only love.
Love just love.
What is it, Lord? What is Your love?
A million answers.
Each of us could probably come up with a thousand.
It’s times such as these that You are not silent, although You don’t seem to say a word.
You answer. You have and will always continue to do so.
You gave Your Only Begotten Son.
A tiny babe. A beautiful child. A strong young man. A fearless leader. A lamb to be slaughtered.
You gave the Tree of Life.
You threw it into the River.
You made all that is bitter sweet.
You gave the Sign of the Cross.
You wrote Your name upon our foreheads.
You gave us a mother, and common brothers and sisters, and holy angels and saints, all of whom we are free to call friends.
Yes, You gave us love.
But what is it, Lord?
We know love exits and we know it does not come from ourselves.
Even for those who say You don’t exist.
To them we could point at the ocean, or the sky—the sun, the moon, and the stars—or even a simple common everyday tree—a single leaf of grass.
“Who made them?”, we can ask.
“Who but God alone?”
Who but You, Lord God, Who willed not to be alone?
You willed love.
You willed Yourself.
Proof of Your existence is You don’t need it.
For nothing will prove You, for nothing can disprove You.
For the love You send is not only born, crucified, and risen, it also ascends.
Above all knowledge.
Into Heaven.
Pure and simple.
Knowledge.
Knowledge that You love us.
You truly love us.
Little old us.
That is what You love.
The object of Your love.
The product of Your love.
We are Your love.
Thank You, Lord.
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—Howard Hain
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