The Promised Sunrise

The Promised Sunrise

“The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”
~Lamentations 3:22-23

Last night as God tucked me into bed, He promised that He would make a special sunrise this morning so that I would be inspired to write a good Soul Reminder. He kept His promise. And now, I must keep mine—to write something that touches your heart and glorifies Him. This is my humble attempt.

The coolness of the Earth is still present from her hours under darkness. The wild grass, wet with dew, stretches out as far as I can see, sparkling in the soft rays of the early sunlight. A shy breeze brushes past me as I sit quietly, listening to the birds singing. Out in the ravine, foxes are calling, calling; their rough voices rousing the other animals from their slumber. The bees, already awake and ready, are busy with the blossoms. Soon, the feral cats will come down from the barn and sit at the edge of the yard, inviting me to feed them. I love this waking up—the slow rhythm to the early hours. I love this time with God.

I love this time with you, too, dear reader. I hold you in my heart and pray for your good health and happiness. I pray for you to always know the love of God—the feel of His gentle hand on your shoulder—the strong arms of His embrace. I pray that you begin every morning in awe of Him, giving thanks for another day as a guest in His amazing creation.

 

 

Hope And Faith Go Walking

Hope And Faith Go Walking

“‘Have faith in God,’ Jesus answered.”
~Mark 11:22

“Come on, let’s go for a walk,” Faith said to Hope. “We’ve been cooped up in this musty old place for far too long.”
“I agree,” said Hope. And so, the two of them went out walking.
“Look at that hawk circling over the pond,” Faith pointed for Hope to see.
“Uh huh, I see it. Look at the deer over by the thicket,” Hope pointed for Faith to see.
They walked along, delighting in the wildlife they saw. At the far end of the meadow, they came upon a fox who had unfortunately gotten his head stuck in a fence.
Hope said, “I sure wish that the farmer who owns that pasture will find him and help him.”
“Wishing isn’t enough,” said Faith as she walked over to the fox.
“He might bite you!” warned Hope.
“Maybe,” she said and sat down next to the fox. She used all of her might to bend the fence until she freed the fox who gratefully ran away.
“Good job!” said Hope as they began walking again.
In a little while, they came to a creek, its water rushing from the spring snowmelt. “How will we cross?” asked Hope.
“Climb on my back. I’ll get us across,” said Faith.
“You’re crazy! There is no way you can carry me through that water. It’s too rough,” said Hope.
“I have no intention of carrying you through it,” replied Faith.
“Then why should I climb on your back?”
“Because I’m going to jump across it!” said Faith
“You’re crazier than I thought!” said Hope. She stepped away from Faith.
“Your choice,” Faith said. She took a running start and lept across the creek, landing safely on the opposite bank.
Hope stood alone, dumbstruck. “There’s no way I could ever do that,” she called to Faith over the roar of the water.
“I know. That’s why I offered to carry you,” Faith called back to her.

What’s the moral of the story? Hope is a good thing to have, but it’s faith that gets things done. When you need to get across the rough waters of your life, have hope, but count on faith to carry you across safely.

Sensing Our Way

Dutiful creature, the mole—shadow sighted, digging his way through fields—going about the day without worry of what he will accomplish. No thoughts of fashion. No pondering his worth. There is only the toil to which he’s been assigned, hidden from view, the dark and dirty work of loosening the earth—faith pushing him forward toward the unseen

We should be so dutiful. Toiling to the life we’ve been given. We should be so faithful—trusting our senses, moving toward that which is felt but yet to be seen.

 

 

Tell Me Your Dreams

Tell me of the well-worn path in which you’ve lumbered, year after year, to arrive at the place of your dreams,  and I’ll tell you to open your fist, soften your grip, and veer off, away from that dusty rut your feet know so well. Explore the outlying brush, the thickets, the mossy bogs, the dead trees fallen from some mighty storm. Explore the terrain that terrifies you.

The destination of our dreams is not a separate place, tucked away at the end of the journey. The destination is the journey; this pinpoint in time, right here, right now. It’s the mud and muck. The snow and ice. The scorching heat and the dry long days that threaten to destroy tender living things. It’s the incandescent joy, the overwhelming happiness, the sublime touch of your lover’s hands. It is everything. For your treasure is simply, your life. This breath. This exhale. This next breath.

Tell me your dreams and I’ll tell you that you’re living them, right now, no matter how far off on the horizon they may appear to you. Because you’re on your way. And the path can’t be torn away from the destination. They are one and the same.

 

 

God Loves You Anyway.

God Loves You Anyway.

The wind lashed at my umbrella as I leaned into the force of the gale, determined to complete my morning walk in spite of Mother Nature’s wrath. When I turned the farthermost corner of my journey, I walked past a church. A young choir inside sang, their voices spilling out onto the sidewalk. I stopped and listened, forgetting the weather. Their voices filled my heart with such sweet innocence, that I was transported back in time–before the hurt, before the shame, before my hardened heart.

My heart ached for all the paths I’ve wandered that took me away from God, away from my goodness. I shivered standing there in the rain.

“I have loved you anyway,” God whispered as the tears I was fighting won and chased my regrets down my face.

“What?” I asked, raising my face to the rain.

“I knew you’d break my heart, but I loved you anyway,” God said gently.

“Oh God, how could you?” I could barely get the words out.

“I created you. You’re mine. How can I not love my creation?” He answered.

“I’m so sorry for all of my mistakes. I’m so sorry I lost my way so many years ago.”

“I know you are. I’ve forgotten all about those years. I wish you could forget them too. Tell the others that even though I know they too will break my heart, I love them anyway,” God asked.

“Yes, of course, I will,”  I answered.

Here is that message: God wants you to know that He isn’t a keeper of wrongs. He loves you, even when He knows you’ll break His heart. You are still His precious innocent child. No matter how far down the wrong path you have journeyed, you can always turn around and come home, back to His arms, back to His heart.

I dried my tears and pushed on, each step propelling me towards home. I savored the company that I was now aware was walking with me—had always walked with me. “Thank you, God,” I whispered, full of gratitude for a love I can only appreciate, never fully fathom.

When You Can’t Be A Light, Be A Mirror

“God, I’m in a bad mood,” I said as I washed the morning dishes. “I’ve tried prayer, meditation, singing, even a hot shower, and nothing helped. I may not be able to be a light in the world today.” A finch landed on the feeder just outside the window. Then another. And another. I watched as they happily filled their little bellies with sunflower seeds.
“It’s okay if you can’t be a light,” God said gently. “You can be a mirror, instead.” He said.
“A mirror?”
“Yes. You can reflect my light,” He explained.
“How do I do that?” I asked.
“Don’t complain or in any other way spread negative energy. Be humble and grateful and my light will reflect off of you, even if you are in a bad mood,” He explained.
“Okay, got it. I’ll not complain, and I’ll do my best to be humble and grateful. I’ll do my best to be a mirror today,” I said.
“Thank you,” God said gently.
“You’re thanking me? Are you kidding? It’s me that needs to be thanking you. You created me!”
“I did indeed create you, but I thank you for being a reflection of my light and love. You could choose not to be, but you’re choosing to serve me.” He explained.
“Yes, I want to serve you, God. Even on the days when I feel too out of sorts to generate light. But now I know you are happy even if I simply reflect your light.”
The little birds at the feeder suddenly flew away to do their morning duties. I knew that they were busy being mirrors for God, reflecting His light to me so brightly that it was almost blinding. I smiled. My bad mood was disappearing in that glorious light.