The Mists Begin To Fade
I climbed up Jerusalem Ridge this morning just after sunrise to watch the surrounding hills peek up out of the fog, to praise God for the amazing bounty He gives us, his sometimes ungrateful, mostly oblivious children.
When I got to the top, the mists were still too thick to see through, so I wandered back to what I call Buck Hollow. Carly and I saw a young buck and his doe back there last week, and they reminded me of she and I several years ago.
When the woods come awake in the morning, the sheer joyous amount of sound and beauty overwhelms you. So much life all around you, all singing praise to the Creator of All Things. Such an intricate, complex, unfathomable harmony. God is in control.
When I paused in telling my Father ‘Thank You’ for all of this, I thought, ‘What if the two words God most wants to say to his creation are simply, ‘You’re welcome’?’
Two raccoons and I startled one another as I began meandering towards home. When I apologized to Abba for disturbing his work, he whispered, “Learn from Me.” The two raccoons scurried up the backside of the closest tree, to the crook of a branch where they could peek out at me. After a cursory investigation, they seemed to shrug, and they climbed back down to where they’d been laying before I came along. I was no big deal to them.
Sometimes people see God that way. They recognize his presence, but since they don’t know how to communicate with him, they shrug and go on about their business, assuming he has no interest in them, either. We who know Him (or, better, are known by Him) ought to be helping people learn how to communicate with Him.
Sometime while I was wandering, I realized the metaphorical nature of climbing the ridge. I thanked God for blessing my climb with a moment of communion with him. I realized that I won’t always sense his presence. I saw a deer grazing her way towards the treeline and paused to watch, not wanting to disturb her. I thought she’d gone far enough that she wouldn’t notice me moving again, when she poked her head up, and loped away. Her tail seemed to laugh and remind me that, ‘You won’t always have me here.’
Abba is training his children to trust him, not their ability to sense him. But because he loves us, he starts wherever we are.
PS – Oh yeah. The sun just barely caressed the trees as they pushed through the mist into the light of morning. The clouds white above, the mists pearly below, it was as if I could see every leaf of each treetop distinctly. Magnificent, Father! Do it again!