Look at the birds of the air;
they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns,
and yet your heavenly Abba feeds them.
You have driven all the way to the Grand Canyon.
Why won’t you get out of the car and look?
Why do you come to the royal banquet
with that little tin cup of yours?
Don’t be like those who put on beggar’s rags
to cry for a handout and then go home to riches.
Every moment is a tour of the royal palace.
It’s a giveaway. You can have what you want.
The dishes, the paintings, take them all.
Because it’s already yours. This is your home.
The forgiveness, the grace—it’s yours, all of it.
The stars and sunsets belong to to you.
Little child, why would your Mother not let you live here?
Why would your Heavenly Lover withhold anything?
Forget possessing. Ignore getting and keeping.
It’s already all yours.