What if there is a beautiful view He wants you to see—but social media is keeping a pair of blurry glasses over your eyes? What if there is something He wants to say—but social media is adding in the clamor of a thousand other voices into your ears, drowning Him out? I’m not promising you that if you surrender social media the rest of this summer it will be an earthquake , or a wind, or a fire, but perhaps, it will simply be His still small voice, whispering, telling you something that no one else can tell you. Because He is God.
Summer is like a wedding. Pedals float through the air. Birds sing. The sticky aroma of peony’s and primroses blooming, giving off their beautiful fragrance. I feel like God is alluring me–to Himself as I walk through my neighborhood and watch the petals dance in the breeze. It’s as if He’s calling out, “Come to Me, Come to Me, Come to Me.”
Because no matter what else happens this crazy year–Jesus already knows about it. And whether the sky comes crashing down in giant flaming pieces, or the mountains burst apart and fall into the heart of the sea, or world war breaks out to the ends of the earth, or (I could list A LOT of my worst case scenarios here…but I will spare you the details of my own crazy mind.) The point is, no matter what happens, Jesus promises this:
“I give them eternal life, and they will never perish, and no one will snatch them out of my hand.” John 10:28
No one will snatch them out of my hand.
Ann Voskamp says, “Gratitude precedes the miracle.” Just like the breeze precedes the rain.
Because as we thank God for what He has already abundantly given, we see and remember what He has already given us. And we see that He is enough. He does something in our hearts. He prepares us to receive His rain.
I didn’t know that we’d be inside for days on end while it rained, and snowed, and it felt like Spring itself would only tease us, but never actually come.
And the days would all bleed into eachother, and so would we.
I didn’t know just how desperately I would need this one thing:
It’s a Hallmark-y sounding kind of word. At least, it was. To me.
But now hope is something else.
Something more. Something alive.
Something like these tucked-in tulips. Withdrawn and inward. But quietly getting ready to bloom.
Separate, yet together.