I AM
I bought this beautiful print for my husband. Click on the image to go to the vendor. I don’t profit if you do, I just wanted to give you the option.
The lyrics of “Forever YHWH” by Elevation Worship filled the sanctuary last Sunday, and as I sang, I found myself struck by the weight of the names we were proclaiming. Adonai (Lord). Elohim (God). While there are endless charts and studies dedicated to the names of God, the one that arrested my heart was the simplest: “I AM.”
This name comes from Exodus 3. Moses encounters a bush that is burning but not consumed and approaches to investigate. God speaks to him from the fire, calling him to lead the Israelites out of slavery and into freedom. Moses, understandably hesitant, asks what he should say if the people ask who sent him. God doesn't offer a long list of credentials. Instead, God replies, “Tell them this: I AM has sent me to you.”
“I am” is a complete sentence. It contains both a subject and a verb. Normally, we add a description after it: I am tired. I am happy. I am Joe. But God adds nothing. The absence of a qualifier tells us everything. God is self-sufficient, self-sustaining, eternal. He simply is. Jesus echoes this truth in John 8:58 when He declares, “Before Abraham was born, I am.”
This name of God excites me. It is expansive and all-encompassing. God does not need the noun after the verb. Yet in our human, English-speaking minds, there is a blank after “AM” that we long to fill with whatever attribute of God we most need to cling to in the moment.
When we are ill, I AM Healer.
When we are grieving, I AM Comforter.
When we are lost, I AM Light in the Darkness.
I AM Provider.
I AM Miracle Worker.
I AM Strength and Shield.
But lately, my own "I ams" have felt much heavier.
The author worn out and asleep in the passenger seat.
I am tired.
I am busy.
I am frustrated.
I am overwhelmed.
I have more things to do than hours in my day. Our church is in the middle of 21 Days of Prayer and Fasting, and while the daily prayer service is powerful and meaningful, setting aside an hour each day stretches an already packed schedule. My husband and I are fasting certain things, and I desperately miss chocolate! I need to take the dog to the vet, but my truck has started grinding up its recently replaced transmission, and I can’t put the dog in the rental car.
My house is still unsettled now that the Christmas decorations are down. There are boxes of cookware on my kitchen floor waiting to be taken to the thrift store. I have my own medical appointments and others to take Mom to. The dishwasher randomly loses power and refuses to come back on until it feels like it, no matter how many times I flip the breaker, so I have to hand-wash dishes I normally just rinse and load. I need to add “find an electrician” to my to-do list. I am trying to learn Italian. And laundry. There is always laundry…
I find myself saying, I am at my limit.
In those moments, I realize I don't need to fill in the blank with my own efforts. I need the One who is already everything. I need peace, rest, and understanding. What a blessing it is to stop the frantic "doing," kneel at His feet, and simply rest in the presence and love of I AM.
*To ease confusion for local friends, this was written 1/20 during 21 Days of Prayer. I’m only now getting it posted! I’ll do better!
3/26/26
Morning With A Side of Waffles
6:30 AM. I am officially a zombie.
I just crawled out of a three-hour “nap” (otherwise known as most of my night’s sleep) long enough to heat up a bottle on the stovetop for Waffles. Now I’m staggering toward the barn like an extra in The Walking Dead.
Halfway across the pasture, I stepped on… something… and nearly ate dirt. The glamour is real, friends.
Waffles is currently playing a high-stakes game of tag with the other kids behind the barn. I collapse into my “Mama Goat” chair and start calling his name. After a few tries, he zooms over—high spirits, zero personal space.
He launches himself at me, hooves digging into my knee, demanding head scratches like I owe him money.
I offer the bottle.
He declines.
Apparently, cooperation is optional.
Instead, he begins an impressive round of parkour in a tight circle around my legs before disappearing under my skirt and delivering a full-force head-butt—exactly what he’d do to his actual goat mama if she’d just feed him already.
He finally consents to a five-second power-chug… and then he’s gone again.
Right on cue, the jealous aunties arrive.
Gingersnap is throwing horns because she wants a snack, and Yaffa is… licking my knee? I truly have no explanation. My life is a fever dream.
Meanwhile, Waffles’ little friend peeks around the corner like,
“You done with the weird lady? Let’s go.”
And just like that, they both disappear into the sunrise.
He drank three ounces. Out of ten.
I am too tired for this level of rejection.
I make my way back to the house, put the bottle in the fridge, and collapse toward my pillow, wondering how this is already my morning.
The Part I Almost Missed
Somewhere between the head-butts, the interruptions, and the three ounces of milk, it hit me—
This is what my life looks like right now.
Messy. Interrupted. Completely out of my control.
So often, I imagine that meeting with God should happen in quiet, peaceful moments—early mornings with a full cup of hot tea, an open Bible, and a clear mind.
But most days don’t look like that.
Most days look like noise, responsibilities, and a baby goat who refuses to cooperate.
And still… God meets me here too.
Not just in the calm and quiet, but in the middle of the noise.
In the moments that feel unproductive.
In the mornings that don’t go as planned.
Maybe faith isn’t about having everything in order before we come to Him.
Maybe it’s about recognizing that He’s already present—in the pasture, in the frustration, and even in the absurdity of it all.
Even at 6:30 in the morning.
Even when all I have to offer is three ounces of effort.
“He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength.”
—Isaiah 40:29