Kissing Cheeks

Miracle: I made it to the moms community group today.  Last week, I backed out of my driveway and hit a Duke Energy truck...needless to say, we stayed home and waited for the police report.  For some reason, getting our pokey butts to church at 9:30 on a Tuesday morning is the hardest thing I do all week.  I can't really explain why.
So anyway, the speaker was talking about worship and gratitude (I think?  I was late.), and she mentioned that she was learning to be intentional during her most mundane tasks.  Specifically, she talked about lathering soap through her daughter's hair and praying thanks for her daughter as she worked.  What a life-changing act of worship, for both mommy and daughter.  And so I started thinking.  How would Caleb's tantrums be different if I prayed thanks for his warrior spirit as I hold him in time out?  How would his responses change if I thanked God for his life as I served him his food.  How would Eli view work if I praised God for his life as I zipped up his pajamas instead of rushing through the ritual toward rest. How would Violet's life (and mine) change if I breathed thanks for her sweet baby cheeks as I rock her for hours on end through our suddenly sleepless nights.  And this.  How could God change my heart toward James if I thanked Him for my husband while I packed his lunch instead of cursing the work he requires?  If I praised God for his passions while I fold and put away his running clothes?  What would that do in our marriage?  I complain a lot about the lack of gratitude in this house.  What if that lack starts with me?
I was rocking Violet to sleep as I rolled all these thoughts around in my brain, and instinctively I leaned down and kissed her cheek.  There is something so rainbows and pixie dust about brushing my lips on my baby's cool cheeks, and Violet's pudgy little cheeks beg for it every time I glance her way.  So I kissed, and my not-yet-asleep daughter chortled, a gurgly laugh that bubbled up from the depths of her soul.  So I kissed again.  Another chortle.  She could not contain her delight in her mother.  She.Just.Loves.Me. When I put her down, her tiny fingers grasp mine and try to pull me back to her.  When I hold her, she tries to gobble up every bare piece of skin...if my fingers taste good, my arm must be even better.  As I kissed and she giggled (and seriously, who can stop in that situation?), Psalm 34:8 came to mind.  "Taste and see that the Lord is good; blessed is the one who takes refuge in Him."  Do I love my Lord so much that I just can't get enough?  That I call for him when I wake?  That I constantly strive for more of his touch?  More of him?  Do I giggle when He kisses me, or do I fail to even notice?  Maybe my act of worship, of love, is noticing the gifts He gives.  Tasting his goodness.  Letting his joy bubble up in my heart. Running to Him instead of away.
In the King James Version, Psalm 34:8 says "Blessed is the man who trusteth in him."
Maybe trust is the way that I need to love my God.