When I say that we all need to learn how to read from the book of creation, sometimes people wrinkle their noses and wonder what I’m talking about. This morning’s journal entry might offer a helpful example, written after a morning walk with the neighbors up at the writing cabin.
Good morning God…
My heart is full this morning, grateful for the walking friends up here and the refreshing conversations when we do our mile together. This morning though, most of my gratitude stems from those few profound moments of light that unfolded while I was eating my bacon and eggs. With the sun rising behind the cabin, the house creates a big shadow out the westward looking window in the dining area. I could see the shadow on the ground but of course not in the air.
Then something astonishing happened. Random snowflakes began appearing in mid-air, as if from out of nowhere. They flash their unique beauty for less than a second, descending slowly, and then disappear, like a magic trick, or some cosmic sleight of hand. I’d never seen such nonsense – couldn’t stop looking: POOF! They’re here. POOF! They’re gone. Over and over again until it dawned on me these flakes are simply coming out of the veil of shadow for a moment to show themselves and then, as if shy, retreat to their dressing room, where the sun doesn’t shine.
This is not only magical; it’s profoundly encouraging. I’m reminded that there are always beautiful things happening that are hidden. That person who’s so difficult, and angry, and addicted – who knows what glory is transpiring in the shadowed recesses of the soul, later to be brought into the light? The same is true of that neighbor for whom I pray, and that person whose self-righteous religiosity frustrates me so deeply. It’s true too, for my own heart where, deeper than my own consciousness even, you are at work: healing, chastening, encouraging, loving.
This, I believe, will birth patience, and love, and joy in the ways I relate to others. What more could I ask on this day when your creation is dancing between shadows and light? Nothing really – it’s enough to know you’re at work, even when I can’t see you.