Rain splats, shifts, drip-drops, spotting our skin  and reminding us that we have bodies as well as brains--that our souls are clothed through God's creativity with flesh that lets us sense in a marvelous way. The rain drops harbor coolness where they catch in our clothing. They scent of relief--joy for hot, tired plants; for hot, tired people; for hot, cracking soil. A song describes Jesus' name as being "like the fragrance after the rain." I want to embrace that wonder of His Being--to let Him catch me in my hot, dry ruts and wake me to a world rejoicing in His life.

Singing in the Dark

I am grateful for pockets full of warm memories: my sister & I digging in the sandbox under the oak until mosquitoes drove us inside at dusk, gathering lilacs with Dad and bringing them home for Mom, playing Poo Sticks from the bridge at the edge of "The Open Space" (the play area at the edge of our trailer park), and pretending on keen days that the half-fearsome tug of my kite against the spool in my fist was a medieval falcon answering my commands.

I am grateful for the smiles of children today: the exuberance of their play, their happy shrieks and unfettered laughter. I am grateful for blossoms: on my geranium, in the neighbors' yards, on the bushes and trees. I am grateful for tea and good news and beauty hiding like Easter eggs all around our world.

I am grateful for a God Who cannot be eclipsed or threatened by my changing moods: Who knows me better than I know myself, Who every moment sees each cranny of my soul and somehow loves me more than I will ever understand, Who holds my hope for forgiveness and redemption and tomorrow.

I am grateful that He hears me singing in the dark and knows that I am afraid. I am grateful that I cannot--and need not--hide from Him.

Restore

Recently I spent way too much time watching short videos of a man rescuing abandoned dogs. I am not truly a dog person, and the online format reminded me of other videos I’d seen featuring people in desperate plights. My social conscience tapped against the back of my mind: Think how much that kind of affection and patience are needed by the abandoned children of the world. Is it really a good use of resources to expend financial and emotional energy on dogs when people are dying? But watching the restoration of these creatures touched a deep chord inside me.

Holding his video camera with one hand, the man befriended the dogs with his other hand—bribing them towards him with pieces of a cheese burger. Always, the dogs were frightened. Often they were under physical stress as well. They cowered, cringed, or jumped away from their rescuer’s advances. Calm and unflurried, he persisted until he could touch them.  Eventually, they allowed him to rub their faces and ears, surprising them with friendship when moments earlier they were afraid for their lives. In follow-up videos, the transformation of these dogs startled me. Dogs that once compressed themselves into cowering bundles of life now exuded affectionate confidence—cavorting with other dogs or leaning their heads against their rescuer's knee and squinting with pleasure as he rubbed their faces.  

Watching those videos, I began to realize how profoundly beautiful restoration is. Dogs are meant to be happy companions—not miserable, terrorized beings. When they blossomed under the influence of kindness into vivacious, “normal” dogs, something broken in the world mended.

People are more complicated than dogs, and I won’t try to draw a great parallel between us and our Rescuer, and the man who sought stray dogs. But I will say this. Restoration is beautiful. How we need this miracle ourselves! Color, spirit, confidence—the individual displays of God’s character and glory that He has designed us to live—have all been twisted and dimmed inside us. In His loving kindness, our maker can restore us to what we are meant to be. I want to embrace God’s designs for my being—to allow Him to draw me out of avoidance, fear, shame, and sin and into His real life. 

Posted by Elena