thunder storms

        Gracie shakes like a leaf whenever there's a thunder storm. I pat her and tell her it's okay, but she shakes anyway. People do, too, but they do a better job of hiding it. Sometimes I wonder how many of the people I meet on the street or around conference tables or even dinner tables are shaking on the inside, just like Gracie. Probably most of them, especially if you count the ones who postpone it until the middle of the night. It makes sense, because there are a lot of storms. That's why you need good, strong Company.

"Do not fear, for I am with you. Do not look anxiously about you, for I am your God. I will strengthen you. I will help you. I will uphold you. . . ." Isaiah 41:10.

cookies and milk

        I like good endings to movies and books and visits, and I like good endings to my days, too. I always have, but it took me a long time to stop making bad ones instead. Every night, I used to either miss the chance to revisit the day, or, worse, I'd walk back through it feeling like a kid going to the principal's office. If I'd done ninety-nine things out of a hundred that day, I'd ignore the ninety-nine and stare at the one looming thing I'd messed up. Then I'd cross my arms and glare at myself and call myself names and tell myself how much better so-and-so would've done. It was like having a few sips of poison as a nightcap. But I don't do that anymore. I have cookies and milk instead. I start at the very beginning of the day, and I remember all its pieces. It gives me a chance to say thank-you for the dog and the fire and the guy at work who always has my back, and it gives me a chance to feel sad about things that got buried under all the busyness. It gives me time for I'm-sorry, too, but not the poisonous kind. Instead of I'm sorry I'm such a hopeless rat of a failure, I say I'm sorry I made You sad, because I know You love me higher than the stars. Sometimes I make it all the way through the day, and sometimes I fall asleep halfway. Either way, it's a good ending. 

a sheep's world

        Sheep are scared of everything.  The man who owns the ones we saw today told us that his sheep are even scared of him.  If he stands outside the fence, they’ll come up to him, but if he gets into the pen it spooks them.  He’s a gentle man, and he’s the one who feeds them and takes care of them, but they’re still scared.  Sound familiar?

like a child

        Sometimes the simplest things are the ones that stick with you.  Speak to your heart.  Just when you least expect it. 

        A few years ago, I was waiting for a friend in a shopping center parking lot.  It was a roasting hot day and so bright that you couldn’t go out without sunglasses.  I sat watching the comings and goings.

        After a while, the door of the dry cleaners opened, and a father walked out with his little boy.  They were holding hands, and the boy was so small that his chubby arm was almost straight up in the air.  As soon as they hit the sunlight, he squeezed his eyes shut and just trotted along beside his dad.  When they came to the curb, he took one quick, squinty look and then closed his eyes again and popped his fingers back into his mouth.  Out they went into the traffic of cars and people.  Eyes closed.  No worries.  Trusting his father.

        I sat in my car thinking.  That’s it.  That’s how I want to live.  I want to trust my Father so much that I’m comfortable even when I can’t see where I’m going.  Even when I’m walking through traffic.

don't worry??

        Don’t worry?  What would today look like if you weren’t afraid?  How would it feel?  Can you even imagine a whole day without being anxious?  Maybe it sounds irresponsible to you not to worry about terrorism or your children or your job or your friends or your country or your health or your future.  Certainly most of us have made worrying a big part of our job description. 

        Let me ask you this: if you had a little child, would you want him to crawl through his days under a heavy burden of worries?  Would you want him trying to figure out how to pay the mortgage and do calculus and fix the roof and other things that are impossible for him?  You’d want him to leave all that to you, right?  To trust you to be the grownup.

        Well, God does have little children – us – and He doesn’t want our brows furrowed.  In fact, He says point blank, “Do not be anxious about tomorrow.”  And “tomorrow” is everything but this very moment.

“[T]he word ‘tomorrow’ must stand for any and every point of the future. The next hour, the next moment, is as much beyond our grasp and as much in God's care, as that a hundred years away. Care for the next minute is just as foolish as care for tomorrow, or for a day in the next thousand years--in neither can we do anything, in both God is doing everything.” Unspoken Sermons, Series II, George Macdonald