Made Woman

Not every girl is attracted to the mobster type, but I happen to hold a fascination for them. A few years ago, I was completely addicted to The Sopranos, which at least helps explain why our family has a 16 ½ pound orange tabby named Vito.

In the mob, the whole idea is to become a “made man,” which basically means you’re in, and somebody always has your back, and if you get in dire straits, somebody will bail you out. It’s a coveted position, and guys will go to great lengths, if you know what I mean, to get made.

I have to admit that in my own life, even just watching mob movies and series dramas, I recognize the longing to belong to something bigger, to feel like I have somebody watching out for me, and to know that in a tough situation, there’s somebody else willing to go the distance on my behalf -- even if it is just because of the profit margin.

There’s not an air-tight spiritual correlation, at least I don’t think there is, but I imagine myself as a “made woman.” I mean, I really can’t think of a more powerful head of the family than my Father! And the beautiful part is that I don’t have to do anything crazy or illegal to gain full access to the rights and privileges of His Family.

I need to be reminded of that on a regular basis, because in my life -- I don‘t know about yours -- there are way too many shocks and surprises. Just when I think I know up from down, the whole plane flips.

And I can easily find myself in a downward spiral wondering how exactly I’m going to make it. Then, it hits me . . . I’m not. I’m not going to make it. But, God is going to make me. And in the process, He’s going to provide absolutely everything needed -- provision and protection and peace and on and on.

In his song Your Love is Strong, Jon Foreman sings, “So why do I worry? Why do I freak out? God knows what I need.” I find myself listening to that over and over these days. And it reminds me that when I was younger, there was an older man in the church we attended that loved on Sunday nights during our church wide dinner to get up on the little stage in the fellowship hall and sing His Eye is on the Sparrow.

He knew something from all his years on earth about trusting in God alone, and it’s something I want to know. Because I have an inkling that being “made” in God is the closest thing to heaven on earth we’ll ever find. It’s a secret known by the birds and the lilies and old men who’ve walked thousands of miles on their knees:


Why should I feel discouraged, why should the shadows come,
Why should my heart be lonely, and long for heaven and home,
When Jesus is my portion? My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

I sing because I’m happy,I sing because I’m free,
For His eye is on the sparrow,And I know He watches me.

“Let not your heart be troubled,” His tender word I hear,
And resting on His goodness, I lose my doubts and fears;
Though by the path He leadeth, but one step I may see;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.

Whenever I am tempted, whenever clouds arise,
When songs give place to sighing, when hope within me dies,
I draw the closer to Him, from care He sets me free;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.