When Skies go Dark, there is a Promise; He is For You

Rays of light dart to the ground, through the smoke-colored clouds painted upon the sky.

A thin layer of lower stratus lines whisp speedily in time with, “The Blessing”, a song on my car radio, declaring His goodness upon a thousand generations.

And I struggle with words sometimes. Struggle, in the storm, to hold down a thought, like cumulus smog, tackled to the earth.

But this day, I hold my eyes to the light, the small, bright hole in the earth, that reminds me…He sees me.

Somehow, someway, far away or near, He loves me. And that is enough.

The railroad tracks capture my tires and I bump up the cement towards the home that enshrines us.

It wasn’t long ago that I was stuck, caught, trapped by a frozen train, in evening, glued to the tracks.

“How do we get home?” My children bellowed.

They were saddened, terrified that we couldn’t pass the wide pastures, the horses and hill that led to their comfy blankets, which wrapped around them like Eskimo’s in an Artic winter evening.

But, God gave us another way. He always opens up another way.

I took my boat of an SUV and twisted it like a pretzel on that small, country path; and turned around to go another way.

It was longer, but the road still led us home.

That evening reminded me that no matter the obstacles, He always offers each one of us, regardless what we have done, an alternative route home.

“The Blessing”, filled up my oxygen-less car and widens my lungs with the truth that, “He is behind us and beside us. He is with us. He is near us.”

But the part that cracked my dry eyes open was when I hear the words, “He is for you. He is for you. He is for you. He is for you”, repeated like CPR infused into weary lungs.

Had I doubted He is for me? Do we doubt when skies get dark, if He is still our cheering section?

It has been a long year. My hero, My Father, left on Easter, to go meet Jesus in the sky.

Doors closed as I saw God give me time to grieve. The loss of a loved one, grief, like a wave…

The kind you are unable to control with your own hope or best intentions washed over me.

Little by little, the sorrow is turning to beauty. Now, I can thank God for such a wonderful man and the gift it has been to call him my dad.

Yet, The Knight that would rescue me at every turn, is not answering his phone on the other end.

The man who sat quiet, and I could tell anything to, doesn’t wait, listen, and then close with, “I love you, Baby”.

He is just a memory…

And the dark ride up the hill, through the sky that only opens a small amount, forces my heart to cling to Jesus.

Tears fall from my eyes, as I hear…

“I am for you. I am for you…”

Both my Father’s now, cheering me on from Heaven.

We pass the tracks, the ones I took my nieces Senior pictures on. The ones my neigbor lost a son on. The ones that remind me of an earth that’s spinning far too fast out of control…

And I think of the land down south where these railroad tracks go.

Sometimes, when grief hits, it is like we shrink. Climb right into our very own heads, and camp there, with blankets blocking everything.

But then, I hear her laughter. The full blown belly laugh of our daughter number four, named after a woman of great influence in my life.

I remember the hugs of our three-year-old. The smile of my other children…

And I shift back to the light, force my heart and mind to be reminded of His goodness, even in the dark.

Count my blessings, because blessing upon blessing surround me, even now…

His blessings. My blessings. Our blessings.

The blessing.

I finally climb the big hill to my home. The weight of my car being pulled by sheer horse power. It feels heavy, although all I need to do is press the pedal.

I think of light weight, my other car. How easy it spins up the hill. Turns, and goes where I want.

But lighter isn’t always better.

Some in our day carry easier loads. They don’t have a large pile of children, big land, a lot of pieces to navigate when tornado’s wreak havoc all around us.

Some spin from one thing to another. They race, on a wild motorcycle, and only worry about themselves.

But I am reminded, God gave me a big vehicle for a reason. A big family. Lots of responsibilities. He must trust me. And that is an honor.

This car is packed with a load full of treasures; duty, needs to’s. hearts, waiting to be filled with promises. And I get it…

They are a blessing. My blessing. His blessing.

The Blessing.

I hold onto the light. Etch it in my mind, even when my car turns away and trees block the open sky and hide me from seeing the piece of beautiful sky I have been clinging to.

It’s still there, light is still present, even when I can’t see it.

I pull the two tons of metal with a push of the pedal, up our local drive. How easy to push a pedal. What if I was running, or climbing, or even riding a bicycling up this hill…

I might never make it.

Yet here, God has given me a vehicle to not only make life easier; He has surrounded me with all these children, laughing and singing, “The Blessing”.

Oh how life changes, when we count our blessings.

How might life change if we looked at what we’ve got more, instead of what was taken?

Then, I see her from the corner of my eye. Darting to the left.

She is tiny, fragile, still vulnerable to the elements.

I know this little fawn. She is the same fawn that walked upon our field, almost to our front porch, not just once, but day after day after day.

She fed upon the apples and the pears inside our orchard.

But at the time, she had a mom and a same sized sister with her. Where are they now?

Where is the others who looks just like her, walking along beside her.

Why was she alone?

Just then, my heart of pity from loss or blocked railroad tracks, fell upon someone else. The fawn. The fawn that was alone, without mom or sibling or anyone.

What if she got struck by a car? Couldn’t find her own food? Was injured and disconnected from her family?

Oh how I wanted to jump out of my car, pick her up in my arms, and carry her up the hill by myself.

But there were other children waiting. There was this vehicle and gift God’s given me.

“I cannot save them all”, my Father used to tell me. But what does my Heavenly Father say?

Isn’t it human nature to help? His character, to ache for The One alone. His mandate to “feed the least of these” regardless of the cost unto ourselves?

Where was this fawn’s mother? Where was her sister? What was God speaking to me through this one encounter with a fawn that looked at me out of desperation?

And my small world, my tiny mind, my self-centered self spinning towards apathy and inner thinking, shifted to the reason I am alive; the lost. The alone. The needy. The broken.

I left part of my heart in the eyes of that baby fawn.

I prayed for her. I longed to pull her into the safety of my fences, where food and grass were plenty.

Still, I wanted most of all for her to know the safety of living inside a family.

The blessing. Her blessing. 

A kind of love she too had access to.

Hearts belt from the backseat unharnessed….

He’s “behind you, and beside you, before you, all around you…”

But more than anything, “He is within us”.

God sees my one SUV packed with children.

He is the One who parts the dark clouds and reminds me, there is always light, even when we don’t see it.

He offers us a way around any difficulty, when trains of circumstances block our path.

No, my car wasn’t too big. In fact, it wasn’t big enough.

There are more. There is more. He isn’t done with our family yet.

There is blessing. And it is for many.

He is for us. He is with us. He is goodness. And His love it goes before us.

What is your calling? Have you experienced the hope of…

The Blessing?