Yesterday was mild enough to let the dog on the deck to pace and watch whatever moved down on the ground, or in the trees. It is fall and squirrels run frantically across the yard with acorns. This always makes Wilber (the dog) run back and forth across the deck and bark.
When a Junco hit the window and fell to the floor in front of him, Wilber was suddenly faced with a dilemma. The beagle in him instantly went for the bird, as I shrieked at him to stop. I watched as he gently picked up and held the bird in his mouth. Wilber did not tear into the bird, but instead brought it to me when I called.
The poor Junco was dead and I don’t think it was the dog’s fault. It is his nature to go after birds. What I saw on his face was a concerned look. He was totally focused. The rescue was gentle; almost tender.
Since my inspiring time at Harvester Island, I have folded away into a cocoon. I was terribly and happily overcome by inspiration with others who sought knowledge the same as me. And then of course, we came home.
So now what?
I’m not sleeping, and when I do my dreams haunt me with recognition of real life. Writer’s block you may say, but I’d rather not. I have never liked that term, so I call it my season of quiet. It seems that God is also quiet. It is also his prerogative. He can keep me here for as long as he wishes, and say nothing.
I know that I must write through this, so I have, but to just share words is not my intention. I must share hope.
One thing I know about quiet—it will happen again, just as it has happened before. The quiet may be long or short; that part doesn’t matter. What matters is if I let myself fall into despair. The only option is choosing to be thankful.
The quiet will come and go, and I will survive. This I know because God is a gentle teacher. He is always concerned, and he is continually on the watch.
It is His true nature.
You and I could despair in these times, (and I have had my days). We wait impatiently while we can’t move forward. When it’s over, we look back and see that some small growth has happened that we weren’t expecting. Maybe it’s nothing big, nothing life changing, just a bit of new hope.
And new hope builds on what we already know.
Poor Wilber can’t change his nature. He will continue to watch the birds intently and quiver, even as I will continue to feed the birds.
The unchangeable God has our lives in the palm of his hand. When our hope is dying we have missed the mark, and our focus is off him and on what we feel.
How hard is it when we try on our own? We’re defeated before we even try.
“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellence of the power may be of God and not of us. We are hard-pressed on every side, yet not crushed; we are perplexed, but not in despair; persecuted, but not forsaken; struck down, but not destroyed– always carrying about in the body the dying of the Lord Jesus, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our body. For we who live are always delivered to death for Jesus’ sake, that the life of Jesus also may be manifested in our mortal flesh. So then death is working in us, but life in you. And since we have the same spirit of faith, according to what is written, “I believed and therefore I spoke,” we also believe and therefore speak, knowing that He who raised up the Lord Jesus will also raise us up with Jesus, and will present us with you. For all things are for your sakes, that grace, having spread through the many, may cause thanksgiving to abound to the glory of God.”
2 Corinthians 4:7-15 NKJV
It is His nature to love, to give grace, and to be the Unchangeable One.