He loves us as He made us

This morning I decided to make bacon and pancakes for my children, before they woke up.  The scrumptious smells of breakfast, and the comfort of knowing that someone who loves them is just down the hall, would be a pleasant welcome to their morning.


Bacon~two pieces undercooked, two pieces charred.  Just the way they like them.
Pancakes~four plain silver dollar pancakes. Mix a smashed banana into the rest of the batter for three big banana pancakes.  Just the way they like them.
Milk~one pink cup with hearts, filled to the brim. One coffee mug, chilled and half-filled.  Just the way they like it.


As I was preparing for them, it dawned on me how different they really are. Yet I don't love my daughter more because she likes to eat bacon ashes, and I don't love my son more because he's fruity about his pancakes, but I love them both the same...with all my heart and soul.  I want to oblige them;  I enjoy it, actually, and I appreciate their colorfulness in an otherwise brown and blah world.


And then it hit me:


God is a God of variety.  And He loves us as He made us.


With our big smiles and our loud laughs.  With our big tears and our loud sighs.  With our black hair and our blond hair, our blue eyes and our green eyes, our skinny legs and our...not so skinny legs, our dark skin and our light skin...


In fact, He loved us so much that He made a whole world to accommodate...even to pamper...us.  That's right.  The unobservant, undeserving, ungrateful...us.


He made the majestic mountains for His hikers, His climbers, His I-want-to-see-the-world-around-me children.  He made the shining seas for His fishermen, His sun-lovers, His I-need-to-taste-the-salt-and-feel-the-sand children. He made the rain for His parched ones. He made the rainbows for His grateful ones. He made the spring for His hopeful ones. He made the fall for his sentimental ones.


I stood at the skillet, a fuzzy-robed, frizzy-haired mom, fumbling spoons and spatulas... and I cried.  I was just frying bacon and flipping flapjacks.  But if I would perform this little act of love for the unconscious ones down the hall, how much more must my God love me. 
And you. 
And all of His children...
His colorful, incomparable creations.