It’s hard not to smile when it’s the only thing you can do.
When language divides,
when touch isn’t trusted,
when words aren’t enough.
It’s hard not to smile when sharing in someone’s joys.
When asked if you believe in miracles.
Miracles of a woman -once marked as barren- now growing swollen with life,
of a girl with a heart disease -once proved fatal- disappearing without a trace of lingering evidence,
of a family- upon a notice of eviction- finding a home that very day,
of a refugee- sad and alone- befriended immediately after begging God’s comfort mercies.
It’s hard not to smile when I get down on my knees to pray.
To pray a prayer of overwhelming humility,
a prayer of gratitude in all circumstances,
a prayer of confidence in the God I pray to.
It’s hard not to smile when I know I have absolutely nothing to give.
Nothing to give because He gave it all for me.
For Him, I offer but my obedience,
my contrite heart,
my songs of praise.
It’s hard not to smile when I know I’ve been beat, bested by God’s best.
Bested by His counter-attack to my resistance,
by wrestling my heart back into His care,
by pursuing me until I receive pursuit.
It’s hard not to smile when I’m in the center of His will.
The center of His perfect peace,
His kingdom plan.
It’s hard not to smile when I am overflowing.
When I leave my house with a full cup,
ready to bless, to encourage, to aid.
Expectant to pour it out,
yet I return even fuller than before.
It’s really, really, REALLY hard not to smile.