It never ceases to amaze me, God, how you show up. And where you show up. You show up in the pages of a book, in a non-descript line—a genealogy, perhaps, or in the obscurity of a Greek word. You show up in the supermarket, at the checkout counter, where someone says, “God bless!” or simply reflects your kindness leaving me thinking: They must’ve been a Christian. You show up when the music stops and the church, with its one voice, sings with all it has got. You show up in the evenings, to point out the jaw-dropping, show-stopping Hawaiian sunset you’ve painted. You show up in the kids, in those moments of pure laughter and those times of absolute vulnerability. You show up at Friday lunches with my wife as we struggle to find an agreed upon place to eat. You show up in a random text message that makes me think: This had to be God up to something. You show up when I’m standing there, in the pulpit, attempting to expound the Scriptures in a way that does them some justice. You show up. That’s the point. You’re never an absentee parent. You show up in these and many other ways. Thank you for being a God who shows up. Amen.