After the Storm - by Glynis M. Belec

©2003

God sent me a message of hope this morning. The fleece that I had begged Him for was hopping daintily amid the rotting apples at the base of the ancient tree. I saw a robin. A downy, red-breasted creature, with feathers fluffed, pecking in earnest at the decaying fruit. It was a brilliant contrast to the milky, white snow.

The storm had passed. For two days, the buses were halted. Roads were closed and virtually all modes of transportation had been postponed.

Today the sun-kissed snow banks cover any hint that spring will soon be making her obligatory debut. It is February. Spring does not usually happen here for another two months.

I gaze upon my lovely-feathered friend as it samples the fallen fruit. I think about my visit with God. Divine appointments, I have discovered, rely not on my own schedule but solely on God’s timing.

Earlier this morning I felt that old familiar 3am nudge. I fought at first for the night was chilly and I did not want to forfeit the warmth of my cozy bedclothes.

Another prod from God startled me into consciousness. I immediately knew that I had to pay attention. I had been struggling with some issues on trust and spiritual surrender. I was experiencing a despair that seemed insurmountable.

I managed to maneuver my way in the darkness and avoided the pile of newspapers that had slid haphazardly from my bed. My husband’s rhythmical, inspiratory wheezing indicated that I was not interrupting his slumber.

My Bible lay, beckoning on the kitchen table. The scriptures that I was led to read were about taming the tongue, and Proverbs 12:25 – An anxious heart weighs a man down, but a kind word cheers him up.

“But, God…” I begged, “what does this all have to do with trust and spiritual surrender?” Then I deliberately turned to one of my favorite verses, Matthew 11:28 Come to Me all who are weary and burdened – and I will give you rest. And then another – Psalm 46:10 – Be still and know that I am God.

Suddenly it fit. My tongue was making me anxious and my tongue was blocking my vision of God. This was impeding my ability to trust. If I could not trust how could I surrender? However, I told God I needed a sign. I cupped my hands in request. A warm blanket of anticipation covered me and I returned to bed.

This morning I gaze in awe at my little scarlet-breasted friend and think about the significance of its untimely appearance. I hurry for my binoculars and lament that I have no battery in my camera. Who will believe me? Then I remember that it doesn’t matter. The robin is for me. The robin is a sign of hope for me. After the storms, spring will come. I sit here caressing the rim of my china mug and sipping my tea. I decide to be still and know that He is God.