It’s raining paper. Coloured pieces of paper. Folded in half, coming down in torrents of pinks, yellows, blues, and neon greens. Face turned upward, arms outstretched, I allow myself to be lost in the colourful, colourful stream.
The pieces of paper are actually notes. I love notes. Words have a powerful impact on me and, written down, they are something that I can go back to, hold close to my heart, and read over and over and over again.
During one crazy “dating game” where I unwittingly found myself as the “searcher”, I was asked what kind of gift would make me go gaga. I simply said, “Anything. As long as there’s a note.” Notes – may they be novels or simple one liners – indicate that some thought has been put into the gift. I don’t care much about a gift’s monetary value. What matters to me is the heart value.
So on the cold night that the picture of the rain of coloured notes came to me, it is needless to say that I was so, so, so hopelessly messed up. (Messed up in a good, good way, of course.) To me, a shower of notes is synonymous to a shower of love.
I saw the folded pieces of paper coming down like confetti in a wide open field. I saw myself in the middle of the field, receiving the notes, being overwhelmed, stopping every now and then to read and meditate. One note read, “You are valuable.” Another read, “You are precious.” And another, “You are the apple of My eyes.” There were about a million or more of them in that field.
“How precious are your thoughts about me, O God. They cannot be numbered! I can’t even count them, they outnumber the grains of sand!” (Psalm 139:17-18, NLT)
God’s thoughts for me are like the grains of sand – uncountable.
And His thoughts for me are like the coloured paper raining down on that open field. Numerous, generous, and so, so precious.
Now freely I receive, freely I will also give.
It is still raining paper. Coloured pieces of paper.