how did i forget that he spoke to fishes? that he clothed lilies? that he knew every sparrow in the field?
when did i stop knowing?
i think there is a personal directive for all of us, much like elijah's: "what are you doing here?" and then, "go out and stand on the mountain in the presence of the LORD, for the LORD is about to pass by: (1 kings 19: 11). we mutter our incoherent excuses, and He simply says go SEE.
Then a great and powerful wind tore the mountains apart and shattered the rocks before the LORD, but the LORD was not in the wind. After the wind there was an earthquake, but the LORD was not in the earthquake. 12 After the earthquake came a fire, but the LORD was not in the fire. And after the fire came a gentle whisper (1 kings 19: 11-12)
i see myself everywhere--my interests, my needs, my wants, my way. i cry out, "where are you? WHO are you?" all the while i stopped seeking him in anything but thunder. i cry out for writing on walls and earth ripped wide, but he whispers loudest in silent tears and my own broken heart.
how do you remember the grace of invitation, the call to see him in the wind?
a grateful nod to amy for her gentle nudging, her beautiful words to hear the only voice that matters. i am learning to sift through the rubble to see his ways; now i must sift through my own heart to see him.
and i know that i see him now in my children's eyes: the colors of the ocean, a stone, the sky; i see him in my husband's pewter circle; i see him in the knitting of stitches and the breaking of bread. i see, Lord. help me Hear.
writing imperfectly, sharing grace with emily.