You created and it was good. Very good. You said so yourself.
So how come right now it can feel bad? Very bad. You didn’t warn us about this. Have you changed your mind? Are you going back on your word? Were you just kidding?
I look of the hint of the sunrise, the glow of the clouds, overseeing two ducks urging themselves toward the shore and the cover of the steady reeds. The water is still, so still I can see the arrow of their wake. Good, so very good.
The darkened surface speaks to the heavens. See your clouds, your tints, and the proud shadows of overflying waterfowl? See your beauty in me? it seems to say. Even the jet trail of the early morning flight is reflected here.
I look up to see the straight white line of the jet trail dissecting the grey-blue of the sky, but where is it drawn on my pond palette? on my earthly representation of heavenly perfection?
Wait. I think I see it. It’s not a straight line at all, but an oscillating serpent in white, wiggling along the surface. I can see it clearly, reflected on the stilled water of the early morning, waiting patiently to come to life. The sheet of pond is not a perfect reflection after all. Unseen perturbations give themselves away.
How could I doubt your perfection? What you have created is good, very good.
Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we will see face to face. Now I know only in part; then I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. ~ 1 Cor 13:12
What if God’s will is so expansive that it includes everyone — everything we are and everything we do — and only narrows when we learn the lesson we’re meant to so we can take the next healthy step in life?
That would mean each of us is progressing along God’s path, within God’s will, mercifully surrounded by the protection of God’s grace, at a pace determined moment by moment by our own willingness to choose what is life-giving and God-intended.
Sounds perfect to me.
The snow is melting taking the evidence of all my hard work with it. Soon, the path I shoveled so Silver could get to the fence will be gone. The piles around the drive that I heaved so my husband could get to work and my daughter could get to school – gone. The swath I cut so my mailman could get to the box and the UPS delivery guy could get to the porch – gone. Even the sharp corner of snow on the street, piled high by the plows, that I removed to help turners come ’round the bend will soon be gone. All gone.
Nothing left. Vanished. But for the smile of the post man, the quicker step from Mr. UPS, the sigh of relief from daughter, the on time arrival of husband, and the paws that continue to find their way. Traffic will give it no further thought.
It was nothing, really. And now it is.
“Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.” ~ (2 Corinthians 4:16-18)