Tuesday, March 18, 2008

I’ve seen a few eggs in my time. Blue eggs, green eggs, pink eggs, yellow eggs, brown eggs and white eggs, double yokers, no yokers, developing yokers, oops-it’s-a-chick yokers. We’re not talking about Easter Eggs, but the real-live-laid-by-hen eggs. I’ve never seen any so huge. “These are the small ones,” he commented. “The large ones cost fifty cents more.” I peered around the yard for a glimpse of the chickens, but was disappointed in my scrutiny. The best clue I had as to the appearance of the fine-feathered fowl who laid such monster eggs was a fine white feather, delicately clinging to the crate as I carried it out to the Suburban.

Driving through the hills and valleys on a misty, moisty morning brought my thoughts to life. Fog swirls in the valleys, causing me to slow down, watch carefully, and turn on my lights hoping to be seen. From the hills I can see over the mists to the other side—but I have no clue what might lie in the valley. Always, whether I see it or not, the sun is shining, above the clouds. In fact, the mists are caused by the sun as it sends refreshment to the land.

Here in the Bible belt, I ask someone about their spiritual beliefs and they vanish behind a church marquee. Opening up is a breeze. “I noticed you have a lot of religious books,” to the man in the Flea Market. “Do you have any spiritual beliefs?” Quickly he assures me he is Church of Christ—even preached for a few years. The ladies in the bead store explain their membership in the Assembly of God. The Librarians always cheerfully remind me that the invitation to First Baptist is always open. I’ve never had anyone actually share the gospel with me. Usually dragging from them the name Jesus and all it entails feels like wisdom tooth extractions. “You go to the Church of Christ? Really? Neat. So…who is Christ?” It was refreshing to see one man’s eyes light up, “He is the Son of God, the Savior of the world.” Well. Not much else needs said. But how have we become so lost in our denominations that our spiritual beliefs boil down to “I’m Methodist” or “I’m Baptist”. No one is saved by believing in a building or claiming a title. We’re saved through the person and work of Jesus Christ! My heart aches to see how unready we are to give an account for the hope within us—if it is truly a living hope within us.

When the rain started, I hurriedly pulled on my boots and headed out to enjoy the warm shower. Disappointed by the gentleness, I trekked down to the creek instead and fell in. On purpose. The woods grow silent on a rainy day—no one speaking, no one listening. Just the restful drip of God’s fresh filtered rain, sliding from leaf to leaf to water the earth. Really, I was simply enjoying the shifting mists, polishing the woods with vibrant green and red and gold when the urge to jump the creek came on. I jumped it in narrow spots. I skipped over stones through the miniature rapids. I scrambled across fallen logs. A wide, deep pool, clear as crystal, beckoned me. “You can’t jump that,” I whispered to myself. “I know,” I giggled, and backed up for a running start. I hit the bank full speed, threw myself into the air and landed inches from the steep shore on the far side, splattering cold water up to my waist. Sometimes you have to take the risk and fall in to discover it’s no so bad. Thoroughly soggy and thoroughly satisfied, I struck out through the pine trees, headed for home.

“Indescribable, uncontainable...Who has told every lightning bolt where it should go,” crackled over the radio, just before the huge crash shook the house. Like a ball of thunder rolling across the sky and slamming into something—no echo. “Did you see that?” Josiah dashed into my room from outside. “Did you hear that?” I shrugged. “I heard thunder.” Catching his breath, Josiah explained, “This huge bolt of lightning just shot out of the sky and struck one of the trees in the woods. I watched it splinter and fall from the shop. Just when the radio played that song…you know…that one…” We stood by my French door together, staring out into the now pouring rain at the rivulets washing down our yard. Finish the song: You are amazing, Lord.

Lord, Thou art enthroned on high
As King of earth and sea and sky,
And sends as by Thy own decree
Thy storms upon the land or sea.

The power of the elements,
Can only partly represent
The power that is in Thy hand
To make or to destroy all land.


Jo said...

What an exquisite little nook you have here! You certainly are a mighty tool in the hands of our Lord, and its been a pleasure visiting you here.
Continue to grace His world with your beautiful voice!

ScribblinScribe said...

Thank you, Jo, for your kind encouragement. :)