“Sheltering-in-place has finally gotten to me, God,” I said upon waking. I didn’t want to get out of bed to face another day of monotony, or my growing waistline and shaggy hair.
“Come on, Sparrow,” God said kindly, “I’ll send the birds to cheer you. I’ll toss the clouds across the sky for you to chase. The breeze I’ll blow to play with your hair. The day will be whatever you make with what I give you.”
“it’s up to me, isn’t it” I asked, but my heart knew the answer.
“Yes. It is.”
“I’ll have to recognize the gifts, won’t I?”
“Yes. Get up and look for them,” God encouraged. “I’ve left them everywhere for you.”
I rose from my bed and pulled back the curtains—there they were, waiting for me—calling for me to come find them.
“Give me a minute to get dressed,” I said and smiled.
Christ is in you.
The light in the refrigerator cast a pale glow in the dark kitchen as I stood with the door open, peering at the fruits and vegetables neatly stored on the shelves. I pulled out a glass jar filled with local organic strawberries and poured a few into a bowl. Maybe they would satisfy me. I washed them in the light of the full moon that spilled its way through the kitchen window. I popped one into my mouth and savored the sweet burst of flavor. Was I really hungry?
So often I’ve turned to something outside of myself for comfort, hoping that the external would fix the internal chaos or confusion. I put the berries back in the fridge and closed the door. I padded down the hall to the bedroom and slipped in-between the sheets. “I’ve got a lot on my mind, God,” I prayed. “More than a bowl of strawberries can fix.”
“What you need is not “out there,” but rather it is in here,” God said and put His hand over my heart.
All of my cares and concerns tumbled out until there wasn’t anything more to say. I felt God within me, calming me, guiding me, satiating the hunger in my soul. The moonlight found its way into the bedroom window and together we curled up and drifted off to sleep, safe in God.
My grace is sufficient for you.
~2 Corinthians 12:9
A gentle rain fell as the day broke free from the night’s darkness. I curled up by the fire and sipped my coffee, pondering the hours ahead. “God, I’ve got to attend an event today that is emotionally challenging. I’m anxious about it,” I said.
“What exactly makes you anxious?” God asked softly.
“I’m afraid people will talk about me behind their backs. That they will put me down. I’m afraid some people there don’t like me,” I said truthfully.
“Sounds like you’re trying to protect your ego,” God answered.
“That’s true. I am.”
“Do you remember how Jesus coped with people’s negative opinion of Him?” God asked me. “He didn’t let other’s opinions disturb Him because He didn’t forget who He was,” God explained. “I’ll be with you. If you get overwhelmed, reach out for my hand,” God whispered. “I’ll remind you that you are mine! Go, enjoy yourself, and let your light shine!”
I smiled at the thought of God and I walking into the event holding hands, His love burning bright inside of me. I looked out the window and the clouds were scattering, leaving in their wake the soft hints of a blue sky. “I’ll go and forget about my ego. I’ll go and be a living conduit of your love.”
“Atta girl, Sparrow,” God said and gave me a quick hug.
Were not our hearts burning within us?
The sun lifted her face above the horizon, casting a golden glow across the meadow. I pulled on my coat and went out to greet the new day and to pray. “God, I get discouraged sometimes. Life can get so chaotic, filled with negativity,” I said.
“Keep your eyes on me,” God answered. “Recognize me in everything and you’ll rise above the chaos and confusion.”
“But I can’t always see you,” I confessed.
“Your stories blind you,” God said gently. He rested His hand upon my shoulder. “Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus. They couldn’t recognize Jesus because they were stuck in their story of His demise, unable to see who was standing right in front of them!”
“But deep inside, they knew Him, even if they couldn’t see it was Him, couldn’t they?” I asked.
“Yes, their hearts burned for Him,” God replied.
“I’ll remember that this burning in my heart is evidence that you are always here and I’ll do my best to let go of my negative stories so that I can see you in everything.”
A finch in the pear tree began to sing, filling my heart with joy. “I hear you and I see you this morning, God,” I said, as the bird and its song fanned the flames in my heart.
God pulled me to Him in a warm embrace. We stood there together and watched and listened as His world up.
Love is the greatest.
1 Corinthians 13:13
The afternoon felt heavy. An ominous malaise settled down over me. Nothing felt good or right. I pulled on my coat and scarf and pushed open the door, hoping that a gentle walk would lift my spirits. I walked through the meadow, by the tall trees, and listened to their leaves applauding the day on the breeze. Somewhere off in the distance, a farmers dog barked excitedly. The sun did her best to warm my body, but my heart was cold as stone.
“God, can you please help me?” I prayed under my breath with each step I took. “I’m discouraged.”
“Here, take my hand,” God replied and began walking with me. “What seems to be troubling you? Tell me all about it.”
I shared with God the heartaches I’d kept to myself lately. They tumbled out of me fast and furious—tears joining them as I spoke. When I finished, God hugged me. “I’m here for you,” He said. I wiped my nose on my coat sleeve.
“Thank you,” I replied through my sniffles.
“I love you, my sweet Sparrow,” He said softly. We walked the rest of the way in silence, me holding His hand tightly. When we got back to the cottage, I put another log on the fire and cozied up on the chaise. All I had needed to banish my blues was to know that I am loved.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.
The cottage was cold when I woke up; I threw a sweater over my shoulders and made my way to the kitchen. A stew would be good tonight, I thought to myself. I poked around in the fridge and found the vegetables I wanted—parsnips, turnips, carrots, onions, sweet potatoes, and rutabagas—along with some grass-fed beef. I took my time peeling and chopping everything, savoring the quiet of the morning.
Hours later, I was curled up on the chaise lounge working, when the stew’s heady aroma found its way to me. It reminded me of fall, of gathering together to share a meal. A melancholy welled up in me. I missed my children. “God, I’m a bit lonely,” I said. “I’m cooking a gorgeous stew and there isn’t anyone to share it with.” God started to reply but a knock on my kitchen door interrupted Him. “Coming!” I hollered down the hall. I opened the door to find Tom, my elderly neighbor. I motioned for him to come inside.
“Whatever that is cooking sure smells good,” he said, as he took his hat off.
“Would you like to come by later and join me for dinner?” I asked.
“I wouldn’t be an imposition?” he asked, twisting his cap in his hands.
“Heavens no. I’d love the company,” I said. “But what can I do for you now? Did you stop by for anything in particular?”
“No, not really. I was driving by and something made me want to stop in and see how you are doing,” he said. I smiled because I knew who had sent him.
“Thank you,” I said to both Tom and God. I opened the lid on the crockpot and stirred the stew, looking forward to setting the table for two.