Let Me Tell You Why I Created You

Let Me Tell You Why I Created You

Frustrated, I slammed the door behind me and headed out down the dirt road for a morning walk. I kicked an acorn in my path. Then another.

“You’re not in a good mood, today,” God whispered through the oak trees.

“Clearly,” I replied, my voice trembling with emotion.

“What’s troubling you?” He asked with such tenderness in His voice it brought tears to my eyes.

“Everything seems to be going wrong,” I confessed. “Maybe I’m broken. Maybe I’m just not good enough.”

“Let me tell you why I created you,” God said softly. He took my hand in His. “I wanted a woman with a gentle heart—the world would need compassion. I wanted a woman who could weather adversity— others would need her strength. I created you, just as I created everyone— because you are good; because you are precious.” God put His arm around me and pulled me closer to Him. “I’ll walk with you until you remember why I love you.”

We walked for a long time; past the noon hour, well into the afternoon. We walked until I finally remembered there was no why, there was only love—unearned and freely given—grace.

 

The Broken Tree Did This

The Broken Tree Did This

I must have walked past the old tree dozens of times without really noticing it. It stood just off the path, twisted and broken from some long-ago storm. Not much remained of its once glorious stature. No long branches, no green leaves. I felt sorry for it; it had lost so much.

“Don’t feel sorry for it,” God said.

“But it was once a beautiful tree. Now it’s a bit of an eyesore,” I said honestly.

“It is the ego that grieves for what is lost. Instead, look for what can be found, and celebrate,” God answered gently. A bird landed on one of the tree’s bare branches. And then another. And another. They called out in the most beautiful of songs to the creatures below.

The tree had found something to celebrate—it was still useful—no matter what it had lost. I listened to the birds for a few moments, then went on with my walk, letting go of my losses and gathering to my heart all that I could find.

 

 

 

Do What The Sun Does

Do What The Sun Does

The day was done. The sun took her last bow, and graciously sank from view.  I sat on the deck, pulling my scarf tightly around my neck to ward off the cold, and watched the night sky slowly come to life, star by star.  Above the eastern ridgeline, the moon climbed into view, spilling her pale candle of light onto the hills below.

“The sun had to set for the moon and stars to shine,” God whispered to me.

“Yes, I know,” I agreed. “It’s so bright it drowns out everything else.”

God nodded. We sat together in silence, the only sound between us, the rustling of the trees. After some time, I rose to go inside.

“I think I know what you wanted me to learn tonight, God,” I spoke as I opened the door. “To remember to get off center stage so that others can shine and be seen.”

God put His gentle hand on my shoulder. “That’s right, Sparrow,” He said. “Let others have a turn. Let others shine.”

I looked back over my shoulder just in time to catch a shooting star blaze a trail across the darkened sky— God’s exclamation point.

 

This Always Happens

This Always Happens

“Will the world ever go back to being like it was?” I asked God as I pulled up the blankets and settled myself for sleep. “The pandemic has changed everything.” I tugged on the lamp chain and extinguished the light.

“The world is never the same. Every day it changes, for life constantly changes,” God answered me softly. “But the sun comes up every morning and chases away the darkness. Light always returns, no matter how long or how deep the darkness.”

“I’ll trust that tomorrow will be as it should be,” I replied.

Outside, a chorus of frogs began to sing, lulling me closer to slumber.

Sparrow?” God said. “There’s one more thing.”

“Yes?” I asked, rather groggily.

“You can always count on me being here,” God said.

“Thank you,” I murmured, then drifted off to sleep, safe in that knowledge.

 

 

 

They Never Talk About This

They Never Talk About This

Waking, at half-past six, as the sleepy world roused from her slumber, I set out on my morning walk. Leaves and branches rustled in the early morning breeze. Birds, hidden from view, high atop the trees, sang their greeting to the new day. A frog, out by the pond where the ducks swim, lent his deep voice to the morning. I stopped to take it all in.

What are the trees and animals talking about? I wondered.

“They are talking about the new day,” God said. “They are talking about life.”

Once again, I started out, strolling through God’s creation, listening carefully to the sounds of the morning. When my legs grew tired from the hilly terrain, I sat down on an old tree stump to rest. Surrounded by the symphony of nature, it dawned on me what the trees and the animals weren’t talking about.

The trees weren’t judging other trees. The birds weren’t gossiping about other birds. Nor were the frogs, or any other living thing. They were too busy intent on being what God created them to be. Too busy being full of life.

I walked home slowly, praying that I can remember to talk about life, instead of talking about others.

 

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