Recently I was reflecting on how dry I have felt spiritually, wondering why I don't seem to hear God's voice as much as I did in the past. It must be because because I'm always so busy with day-to-day responsibilities that I don't have much time to be still, let alone think about anything eternal.
This morning, God reminded me that He still speaks.
After sleeping in until nearly nine, I fed the pets--four of them now; I'll have to tell you about that another day. I poured my sister Amy a bowl of cereal, put in a load of laundry, and walked across the park to meditate on my scripture memory cards. By now it was nearly ten, and it was shockingly hot. I hadn't even made it out of the cul-de-sac before the sun beating on my back nearly made me rethink my decision. The house was a wreck, and there was plenty I could be doing in the air conditioning, but I pressed on.
When I reached the big circle in the middle of the park, I hesitated in the shade on the path. I looked to my right, where I'd planned to go. That way leads to my favorite part of the park, where the path ends in a little loop overhung with giant trees. I'd had a lovely time studying my scriptures at a picnic table there the week before. Surveying the path, I realized there were zero trees shading the path as far as I could see.
To my left, the other picnic table where I've often meditated on my scriptures was sitting in full sun. That would not be an option. Then I gazed across the soccer field to the playground, half full of energetic children. Next to that was the basketball court, where a few teenagers were shooting baskets. The picnic tables over there were in full shade, but I craved silence. I sighed, poised to return home.
No! I wanted to study my scriptures, and I wanted to do it surrounded by green trees and grass and blue skies, not dirty laundry. As soon as I set foot on the big circular sidewalk leading to the playground, the sun beat down on me mercilessly. The soccer field was empty at this hour, so I made a sudden left and cut across the grass.
Sweat was just beginning to trickle down my back when I reached the shade next to the playground. I settled onto one of the picnic table benches and pulled out a stack of cards. Immediately, a little red spider crawled onto my hand. I crushed it without a thought, then felt bad. Keeping my eyes on the little business cards where I have copied perhaps 20 precious memory passages that God has given me over the last couple of decades, I tried to imagine that I was alone.
I whispered verse after verse to myself, marveling that I hardly needed to glance at the cards even though I often go months without pulling them out to refresh my memory. The familiar, beloved words filled my mind and heart as the voices of children and teenagers receded out of my consciousness. A cool breeze lifted my hair, and I smiled. "Thank you," I whispered.
One thing that I couldn't block out was the parade of spiders that crawled over my hands, my legs, my phone, and the little black bag where I keep the scripture cards. I carefully knocked each one away. The only other thing that I smashed was a fire ant that bit my calf.
After about 20 minutes, I'd had all of the spiders I could take, so I stacked my cards and stowed them in the bag, inspecting for wayward critters before I fastened the Velcro. Considering my options for returning home, I decided to walk away from the big circle and over the other bridge, hoping there might be more shade on that path.
As I crossed the bridge, I noticed two hand-painted plaques leaning against the low concrete wall, each decorated with random embellishments such as angels and rainbows. "Add a painted stone," the first said. The second said, "To see how long I can get." What on earth was that supposed to mean?
Then my eyes moved lower, to a line of painted stones that extended all the way down the wall and partway down the path. There were humble colored rocks in every color, along with elaborately decorated stones with googly eyes and glitter. How wonderful, I thought. I don't know why, but that crooked line of painted stones really moved me. One person, probably a child, had made a sweet gesture and invited others to do the same... and they had answered the call.
I looked back and forth down the line of stones and took it all into my heart, a smile stretching across my face, the hot sun momentarily forgotten.
As I cut across the Frisbee golf course under the shade of two giant trees, I opened my mouth and let the joy bubble out. "Thank you for putting beauty in the heart of man," I whispered. A Bible verse tickled the back of my mind, just out of reach. Beauty in the heart of man.... Or was it eternity in the heart of man? Maybe it was both, I decided. God set the beauty of eternity in the heart of man, so that we could look up from the darkness around us and the tedium of everyday life and take pleasure in all the little joys around us, so that we could find beauty and make beauty, and we could do it together.
On the short walk home, I thanked God for the painted rocks, the shade, the breeze, the scriptures, and even for the labor unions who gifted us with weekends. Back at the house, I measured out 12 grams of coffee beans and poured them in my little hand grinder, mixing in some vanilla flavored chicory. I only drink one cup of coffee a week, which is one cup more than my doctor wants me to have. That makes it extra special. I let the coffee steep for four minutes in the French press and then pressed the plunger down.
Turning my back on the dirty dishes, I carried the coffee to my room and plunked down in my favorite easy chair. I read my Jesus Calling devotional, which never gets old even though I'm now on my third year of daily readings. Next, I wrote three pages of increasingly messy cursive in my gratitude journal; I've been making myself write in cursive for the last several weeks because I don't like to think that cursive is a dying art, and also because I've read that it's good for the brain. In any case, I don't like my sloppy writing, but it does get easier the more I do it.
After all that gratitude, my chores were calling to me, but then I remembered that I'd been unable to complete an entry in my latest Write the Word journal a couple of days before because my pen had run out of ink. My work could wait a few more minutes, I decided. I flipped to the page marked with a ribbon and then wrinkled my forehead in confusion. The date of the entry was May 8, 2021. Oh, this was the wrong journal. It was the first of my three Write the Word journals, a gift from my boss a couple of years ago.
Since the book was in my hands, I decided to read an old entry. I love looking back on old journal entries, like stepping back in time. I riffled through the pages, wondering where I should read. I finally settled on the second entry, from May 5, 2021. My eyes widened when I read the verse I had copied in neat, crisp print. You can probably guess what verse it was, but I was flabbergasted!
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men, yet they cannot fathom the work that God has done from beginning to end.
I know that there is nothing better for them than to rejoice and do good while they live, and also that every man should eat and drink and find satisfaction in all his labor—this is the gift of God. (Ecclesiastes 3:11-13)
Below the passage, I had written, "How can God make everything beautiful? I know He does it in His time, in its time. It takes time to build beauty, and in time that beauty becomes visible.... I love it that God thinks the best thing we can do is rejoice. He wants us to have joy and do good, and to enjoy doing good. He wants us to eat and drink and enjoy the fruit of our labor. That feeling of 'job well done' is God's gift to us."
I left that other journal entry unfinished so I could revel in this sacred echo. I'd been right. The passage was about both eternity and beauty. Also, it showed me that God had enjoyed hearing my list of everyday joys just a few minutes before.
I set the journal back in the bin tenderly and set about my weekend chores with a light heart. Oh yes! God still speaks to me. But only when I take the time to listen.
More beauty in my day:
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| Allyson's Last Homecoming Dance |
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| Best Friends |
