“In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” ~Genesis 1:1
Some days I sit and ponder that there was nothing but God before the creation. No sun. No moon. No earth. I can barely wrap my head around it—out of nothing came every star, every solar system, everything! How did God do that? I’m in complete awe. And that’s the state I am happiest to be in—gobsmacked, jaw-dropping, amazement.
It reminds me that with God, all things are possible. If He can make something out of nothing, surely, He can take the darkness in me and turn it into a light so bright. I count on Him doing that for me every day when I stand before Him and humbly hand Him my heart.
“…God is love…”
~1 John 4:16
The morning was untidy—clouds strewn about haphazardly. Even the trees were a mess—their branches disheveled in the wind. A handful of leaves skittered across the yard, unruly. I clenched my teeth as I strode towards the garden—my mind filled with every worry I could think of. “It’s not a good day, God,” I snarled when the gate caught on a branch and refused to open.
“What seems to be the trouble?” God asked.
“Sit down with me.” God motioned to the lawn chairs by the pear tree. And so I sat down, in the bluster of the wind. “Move over,” God instructed as He sat down in the chair with me. I felt His arms wrap around me. Warm. Protective. “There, there, my precious little one,” He whispered. The tears I had not yet cried fell down my face as I rested my head on His shoulder. “There, there. Tell me everything.”
I told God about my pain. My sorrows. My regrets and my fears. I must have talked for a long time, for the sun had made her way high into the sky when I was finally ready to get up and go back to the house. “Thank you, God, for listening to me. For loving me.” I wiped my eyes and stood up.
“Always,” God said as He calmed the wind and put the clouds back into their proper place. “Always.”
“But the plans of the LORD stand firm forever, the purposes of his heart through all generations.”
There is a factory out in my garden—hundreds of worker bees busy on the job, pollinating the blackberry bushes. I stop pruning the wisteria that has overgrown the fence and listen to their humming. The air is electric with it! I think of the bee, so intent on being a bee, that it knows of nothing else—its purpose etched in its DNA.
Later, I relax on the porch swing with a magazine, thumbing through the glossy pages. Apparently, I need longer lashes, thinner thighs, whiter teeth, and less wrinkles. For a moment, I’m overwhelmed with how I don’t measure up, but then I think of the bees, and I know, in the deepest recesses of my heart, that God doesn’t care about my outside. He cares about what’s inside, and if like the bees, I’m focused on the purpose for which He created me.
I close the magazine and wander back out into my garden, back out to where I can remember my true self.
“The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come…”
~Song of Solomon 2:12
In the dark before dawn, I heard God singing, just outside my window. “That’s a lovely song,” I called to Him from my bed.
“Thank you. Why don’t you sing with me?” He asked. “Join your voice with mine.”
The thought of singing with God filled me with immense pleasure but also a bit of trepidation. Who was I to sing with the Almighty? “Are you sure, God?” I asked.
“Lift up your voice. You know the tune,” God urged.
He was right. I did know the tune, for I heard it in the beating of my heart. So I softly sang, harmonizing with God in the moments before the sun appeared.
“Keep singing, all the days of your life, Sparrow,” God said as He continued on His way. The birds—roused from their slumber—followed Him overhead, singing with Him.
I heard them off in the distance as I made my way to the kitchen. I hummed along as I made myself a cup of coffee.