Soggy and sullen, the clouds hang pinned to sky, flapping in the breeze like wet laundry. A line of crows flies under them, snaking their way to the ocean cliffs. “Today feels ominous,” I whispered to God, a slight shiver moving through me.
“It’s the unknown that disturbs you, Sparrow,” He gently replied. “Come, take my hand, I’ll walk towards it with you.”
And so we set out, the two of us, hand in hand, moving towards the unknown— me far more brave and trusting with God by my side.
“Let go, let God,” I repeated over and over as I pushed the hand trowel into the soft earth—concerns about the financial impact of the pandemic on my mind. An earthworm wiggled in the exposed soil. Gently, I picked her up and moved her out of the way of the trowel. The pair of sparrows returned to the yard, stopping at the feeder before returning to their nest building. A white moth flew by me, intent on exploring the tall foxgloves, while off in the distance, a crow called out in his raucous voice. “You aren’t worried about the future, are you?” I said to the hummingbird zooming about the salvias.
“It’s going to be okay,” God said and sat down next to me on the warm ground.
“Yes,” He said gently.
I placed a petunia into the hole I’d dug. “I’m doing my best to trust that,” I replied.
“I sent my angels to remind you that I am here, and in charge.”
God waved His hands, “All the living creatures in your garden,” He said.
A fat bumblebee buzzed by my head. “I thought angels looked different, you know, gossamer wings,” I said and smiled.
God rested His hand on my shoulder. “Let my angels lift your spirits and fill you with my love.”
“They always do,” I answered. I looked up at His face. “Thank you.”
He nodded, then rose to attend to someone else whose heart was in need of Him.
The cicadas sang under the hot Florida sun, so many years ago, as I stood on the edge of the diving board, my small legs trembling. “Jump!” my friends encouraged. But I was hesitant, unsure of how the water would feel when I splashed down.
Now the California sun softly warms the day. I stand on the edge of the morning, my legs trembling. “Jump” God encourages me, But I hesitate, unsure of how the day will feel. “Jump,” He calls again, His arms open wide. “I’ll catch you.”
I debate my options—stand on my own or surrender.
“Jump,” God calls as the robins awaken and sing their songs. “Jump.”
I close my eyes. “I’ll trust you,” I call out and jump into His arms.
“I’ve got you,” He says joyfully, and carries me into the unfolding day.
A plane rumbled overhead as it broke free from the earth’s moorings and slowly rose into the sky. I sat on the grass and watched it cross over the rooftop and beyond. It was the first plane I had seen all morning.
“The sky is usually humming with planes taking off and landing at the airport,” I said to God. “It’s a bit worrisome, this new pandemic normal.”
“They will return, in time,” God promised. A crow flew above us, it’s black wings cutting through the afternoon breeze. “See how simply the animals live? They don’t worry. They trust me.”
I thought of all the complexities I’ve created in my life—things to do, things to own, things to busy myself. God heard my thoughts.
“Use this time to rest. Use this time to grow closer to what is real, what is eternal,” He said and reached out to put His arm around me. “Use this time to let go of your fears and surrender into love.”
A tear made its way down my cheek, so moved was I by the sound of God’s voice upon my heart. I relaxed into His embrace, trusting Him with my life.
“Do not be anxious about anything…”
On the wind, the Starlings fly; their soft bodies pushed side to side as they navigate the coming storm. Instinctively, they take refuge in the oak tree just outside my window. I watch a mother squirrel lead her baby across the lawn. Together they climb the magnolia tree to wait out the rough weather. The Juncos eating at the bird feeder take flight as it swings with each new gust. I sense a shift in the temperature as the clouds burst open.
I marvel at God’s creation. He instilled intelligence in all of His creatures. Everything works perfectly together; all the minuscule pieces aligned by God’s hand. Everything that I see in the world enables me to trust all that I can’t see.
The storm slowly spent its fury. The clouds rolled away and left a turquoise sky shining with promise. The animals left their safe harbors and once again, went about the business of the day. So too, do I. Out beyond the storms of my life I go with God. I trust Him with all of my tomorrows— with all that I cannot see.
“In whose hand is the soul of every living thing, and the breath of all mankind.”
I curled up on my couch—candles flickering in the growing dark—as the sun waved farewell and sank into tomorrow-land. I pulled up the comforter from the foot of the couch and wrapped myself in its gentle warmth. It had been a tumultuous day.
“Don’t worry, everything is going to be alright,” God said.
“You’re sure about that?” I asked.
“I am the Alpha and the Omega. Of course, I’m sure.”
“It’s hard to believe that when everything seems to be falling apart,” I told Him.
“You can’t see the big picture, but I can. Trust me, everything works out in the end,” God assured me. “Get some rest; tomorrow is another day.”
I giggled. “You sound like Scarlett O’Hara.” I could hear God smile. “Why do I lose faith when things don’t go as I want them to go?”
“Your ego,” God answered. “You get scared and want to take control.”
“What can I do to trust you better?”
“Breathe. Just breathe.”
“No, seriously God. What can I do?” I asked.
“I was serious. Just breathe. There’s nothing you need to do other than to go on living and let me do what I need to do.”
“You promise you got this?”
“Cross my heart,” God said.
The candles burned brighter as the room grew darker. I watched the flames dance to the beat of a drum I couldn’t hear. Much like I can’t hear God’s drumbeat. It’s not meant for my ears. All I can do is trust that He’s beating the drum perfectly. I can breathe when I can no longer see His hand, and I get scared. And I can remind myself that tomorrow is another day.