Written in the Sky

Psalm 19 breathes with wonders that my camera cannot begin to capture. The sheer enormity of the skies boggles my finite mind.

Needless to say, terms like sovereignty and providence bounce around in my head, so I relish the Scriptures and other writers who have grappled with these big ideas. Jerry Bridges writes "I define God's providence as 'His constant care for and absolute rule over all His creation for His own glory and the good of His people.'" So I breathe these ideas into a prayer for a family who said an earthly goodbye today to Faye Parkinson. This afternoon they believe, in the midst of their grief, another Bridges' thought: "God, in His love, always wills what is best for us. In His wisdom He always knows what is best, and in His sovereignty, He has the power to bring it about." The Psalmist proclaims.

The heavens declare the glory of God;

the skies proclaim the work of His hands.

Day after day they pour forth speech;

night after night they display knowledge.

There is no speech or language

where their voice is not heard.

When death comes to a loved one, Paul writes "but we do not grieve as those who have no hope." How do we finite creatures gain a bit of heavenly perspective as we grieve? Always practical, Bridges says this: "We must see our circumstances through God's love instead of, as we are prone to do, seeing God's love through our circumstances. I rejoice in Faye's safe arrival home and in her family's eternal perspective.

And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain

You may recognize the above title as a line from the hymn, "O Worship the King, All Glorious Above." Today the rains came to western Maryland and I, driving home from having had a doctor's appointment in Annapolis, drove through sheer deluges as I came across I 68. So what "sweetly [distilled] in the rain"? Interestingly, enough, I often cast my eyes to the definition of "prayer" from the Shorter Catechism, attempting to memorize it as I drove. Having no DVD player and a limited number of radio channels provided the quiet time for concentration, and I held the paper as, phrase by phrase, I tried to cajole my addled brain cells into memorization.
The first phrase, "Prayer is an offering up of our desires unto God for things agreeable to His will," gives me pause. Precise language impresses me; "an offering up" carries more impact than "an offering." I need to trust God, believing His sovereignty knows and ordains "things agreeable to His will," events that will bring Him glory and conform me more to His image. Fine, when all goes well, but what about the 34-year-old dad who died? That death returns me to meditating and surrendering my idea of how things should go "to God for things agreeable to His will." May the rain on the daisies help distill such a prayer offering.

Fragility of Life

Breezes atop Winding Ridge blow most days, but on Sunday afternoons I pay better attention. I watch sunshine peeking through windows and casting shadows on the wood walls; I contemplate more of what's important and less of what's impending in the upcoming week. My older son and his wife have attended the funeral of a 34-year-old friend who leaves a wife and two children to face life without him. That's a bitter pill in this life, but will we treat our spouse with more love and appreciation in the everyday happenings of life a few days from now? We are such forgetful creatures. But for right now, on this ridge where I live, the stirrings of love for my husband of 41 years blow over me and remind me to love with gale force.