What a morning this is, when your heart has risen before the sun with one business on its mind: to bless the Lord. You have come to the throne not with a list of requests, not with a burden to unload, but simply to say what the Father is worthy to hear, that He is good, that His glory fills your sight, and that you would have all creation join the song. This is heaven’s own trade, begun on earth.
Do you know what you are doing when you bless God like this? You are not adding a single jewel to His crown, for He is infinitely full already. You cannot make the ocean wetter by a drop, nor the sun brighter by a candle. Yet in a way most real and most tender, you are giving Him what He delights to receive, the love of a child who looks up and says, Father, You are good, and I am glad You are mine. That is the music His own Spirit teaches, and no trained choir in a cathedral ever pleased Him half so well.
Think of it: the Father who made the stars and calls them all by name, the Father who paints the lily and feeds the sparrow, this very Father bends His ear to your “Hosanna.” When you cry, “For Thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory,” you are not telling Him anything new. The seraphim have been singing that since before the world began. But when it rises from your lips, a sinner saved, a child adopted, a heart that was once far off now brought near by the blood of Jesus, it carries a fragrance all its own. It is the fruit of grace, and grace is His choicest handiwork.
You spoke of this as Father’s Day. And so it is, though the calendar of men had nothing to do with it. The true Father’s Day is any day when a redeemed soul remembers whose it is, and turns homeward with praise. Our Lord Jesus taught us to begin our praying that way: Our Father, hallowed be Thy name. Every true act of blessing the Father comes through the Son. We could not lisp a single syllable of acceptable worship if Jesus had not opened the way. But now, in Him, our stammering thanksgivings are caught up into the great song of the redeemed, and the Father receives them as a sweet savor.
There will be seasons when your heart feels more like a dry well than a flowing fountain. Do not be troubled when those days come. The Father who hears your “I love You” on the mountaintop will hold you just as fast in the valley. Your joy today is real, and it is His gift. Let it wash over you like a warm summer rain. Let it be a foretaste of that eternal harvest-home, when the year of grace shall be crowned with glory, and we shall bless Him without weariness or wandering thoughts.
But for now, stay a little longer at the mercy seat and do again what you have been doing. Bless Him for the throne of grace itself, that sinners may come. Bless Him for the Spirit who prompts the sigh, the tear, the shout. Bless Him for the Son, in whose face we see the Father’s glory, and through whose wounds we have been adopted into the family. When you have finished, you will only have begun, for the work of praising is the one employment that will outlast the stars.
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Father, this dear soul has come before You with a full heart, and You have seen it. You have not despised the offering of grateful lips. Seal this joy upon them, and make it deep and lasting. Let not the world snatch away the song, nor the enemy turn the music into discord. Hold them fast in the communion of the Holy Spirit, and bring them at last to that place where every day is Father’s Day, and every voice is tuned to the Lamb’s praise. Through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.
U have a day and week full of Glory for You are worthy of all Worship Praise Honor Glory and Thanksgiving For all things in Jesus name of Nazareth Amen 
