I tend to think and speak in hyperbole.  I come by exaggeration naturally–my dad was an amazing story teller, and it has passed to me to be the family embellisher.  Dad used to tell me that stories improve with the telling, like the size of the one that got away.  I’m a visual learner, so painting word pictures helps me remember and appreciate things I’ve heard.  I think some of that comes from wanting to live life in hyperbole–bigger, better, deeper, sweeter, happier, kinder, more gracious, more consistent, more loving, more patient.  More.  That engages my heart and my imagination.

But often my days are filled with the ordinary and mundane.  The clothes that need to be washed because the underwear situation has become critical.  Sweeping the kitchen floor one more time because crumbs tend to procreate.  Washing dishes that will only be dirty again in a matter of hours.  Or minutes.  It’s as if I’m Bill Murray in the movie “Groundhog Day”, reliving bits and pieces of life that won’t ever be any different this side of heaven because we’re living in a broken world.  I won’t get it right.  Not now.

But that’s the tip of the iceberg.  The part that’s easy to see.  Often the part that’s easy to marginalize.  The wonder of the iceberg is that there is more beneath the water line that no one sees.  Much more.  I too often focus on the tip, and I’m discouraged by what I’m not, by what I haven’t done, by what I can’t do.  God sees the depth of me, the full story, that which goes beyond my accomplishments to the grace of the gospel.  He has made me, fearfully and wonderfully, as He has chosen to make me.

I don’t want to become content with status quo.  It may feel comfortable at times, but it doesn’t satisfy that longing for more of what God has created me for–more of Him.  The extravagance of Him.  The One who is said to be able to do immeasurably more than all I can ask or imagine.  And since I tend to think and speak in hyperbole, I can imagine a lot.

That’s my challenge every day.  To focus on that immeasurably more that I can’t see.  And to relish the fact that He knows and sees me.

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