Mommy’s little helper

Brennan burst through the bedroom door announcing that he was there to get the trash. We were spending a few days with our friends and Phil and I exchanged a smile. Mommy’s little helper.

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Many people have helped me over the years.  Phil helps me reach things on high kitchen shelves. My mom helped me learn to sew. My kids helped me make Christmas cards. The lady at the return counter says, “may I help you?” It’s an ordinary sort of thing we humans do for each other.

This morning I was reading through a list of God’s names and characteristics. And there it was, between Heavenly Father and Hiding Place. Helper. God helps us?God helps us?

I try to image President Uhuru Kenyatta knocking at the front door, offering to help me with Swahili. Or Bill Gates calling to say he’s coming over this afternoon to help with my phone. Or Dr. Ben Carson saying he’ll help me put on that band-aid. Who, me?

The Lord God Almighty, Creator of the universe, Savior of mankind offers to help me.  He wants to help me.

I’m floating on this wonderful thought.  Wow.

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