Something can appear beautiful or ugly entirely based on the light that is put on it.
What light am I putting on our current heart-breaking situation?
It gets ugly fast when I shine the light of politics on it. Or compare my quarantine to others' quarantine.
It's ugly when I strain to see into the crystal ball and know what the near or distant future holds.
It's ugly when the only light is fear: fear that I'll get it, fear that my family will get it, fear that my loved ones will get it, fear that my community will be decimated, fear of a decade-long economic depression, fear that I'll be involved in a super-spreading event, fear that I'll give it to someone vulnerable, fear that I can't get groceries, fear that my friendships will wither to death by neglect, fear of being left behind and forgotten about, fear that life will always forever be like this.
The fear light is bright.
Just like Caleb and Joshua, the two faithful spies in Israel, faith tells a different narrative.
The light of faith says God is doing something unseen. Something good, trustworthy, and worthwhile. Faith is satisfied by knowing that present pain is not worth comparing to future glory.
Faith remembers that God hears me--God sees me--God knows my name and will not forget me or move on to more interesting things.
The light of faith shows that God wasn't surprised by Covid, that it is all part of the tapestry of grace He is weaving with my life.
Faith sees that this life is a blink, and eternity is full of light, joy, and sweet fellowship beyond compare--and this trial is preparing me for it.
Faith knows that my Good Shepherd walks through the dark valley, here, now, with me. His rod and His staff, they comfort me. He Himself doesn't shy from my dark path, but takes me down it with His own hand.
Switch to the light of faith, and even quarantine starts to look beautiful.
Be still, my soul:
the Lord is on your side;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain;
Leave to Your God to order and provide;
In ev'ry change,
He faithful will remain.
Be still my soul:
your best, your heav'nly Friend
Through thorny ways
leads to a joyful end.
Be still my soul:
your God will undertake
To guide the future as He has the past.
Your hope, your confidence
let nothing shake;
All now mysterious
shall be bright at last.
Be still my soul:
the waves and winds still know
His voice Who ruled them
while He dwelt below.
Be still my soul:
when dearest friends depart,
And all is darkened in the vale of tears,
Then shall you better
know His love, His heart,
Who comes to soothe
your sorrow and your fears.
Be still my soul:
your Jesus can repay
From His own fullness
all He takes away.
Be still my soul:
the hour is hast'ning on
When we shall be
forever with the Lord,
When disappointment,
grief and fear are gone,
Sorrow forgot,
love's purest joys restored.
Be still my soul:
when change and tears are past,
All safe and blessed
we shall meet at last.
 |
| Jason's birthday present--an outdoor daybed for the balcony. |
This mouse wins the rodent courage award. A few weeks ago I stopped at Grandma and Grandpa's house to chat with them from my car, when this cute little guy ran out from under the hood, up the windshield, and huddled under the front of the roof rack.
Not being able to get to him, or shoo him off, I had little choice but to apologize to him and drive off. Eleven miles later, I reached home and checked the roof.
Windblown and traumatized, but still clinging on! He had slid to the back of the roof rack; I'm sure there are tiny desperate claw marks all down the roof. I would love to have footage of his little round ears flapping in the 50mph wind and his tail sailing out behind him as he clung for dear life.
Oh fearful saints, new courage take:
The clouds that you now dread
Are big with mercy and will break
In blessings on your head.
Judge not the Lord by feeble sense,
But trust Him for His grace.
Behind a frowning providence
He hides a smiling face.
God's purposes will ripen fast,
Unfolding ev'ry hour.
The bud may have a bitter taste,
But sweet will be the flow'r.
Blind unbelief is sure to err
And scan His work in vain.
God is His own interpreter,
And He will make it plain.
When tears are great and comforts few,
We hope in mercies ever new.
We trust in You.
Katharina von Schlegel, "Be Still, My Soul"
William Cowper and Bob Kauflin, "God Moves"
No comments:
Post a Comment