It's there in assorted shells gracing the damp glistening sand, these memories that granddaughter collects, stows in jars back home. It winks at you in the frothy waves lapping the shoreline, grandson running free. It caresses your chilly back, this azure blue sky, speaking beauty, promise, and for a moment you forget it was there, the pain, all that hard pressing in right now. Kisses from above these are, mercy hugs, grace baths, time with family, nature, giggles and play. Eclipsing the hard, the unknown, mad politics.
Some problems remain, unfixed, like mine did one day on vacation, threatening the peace, aiming to get its greedy hands on all that joy under the sun. And all the anxious text messages for prayer, help, answers, like twentieth-century worry beads, they generate more tightness until He gets you in His mercy grip. Until He reminds you gently, holy like, subtle and quiet, maybe even when you don't know what's coming up ahead. He gives you this sticky note to remember, He is alive, and that all is well. With Your soul. He did that for me on that hard pain day. He showed up. He lit the way.
"If I rise on the wings of the dawn, if I settle on the far side of the sea, even there your right hand will guide me, your right hand will hold me fast."
"How precious are your thoughts, God! How vast is the sum of them! Were I to count them, they would outnumber the grains of sand-when I am awake I am still with you."
I like to think this is what He does best. And what causes heaven to do cartwheel happy dances. When the moments hold us hostage like mine did recently, He touches those scared, imprisoned places and points the anxious gaze to all that magnificent grace, past present and future. I like that, this invisible gentleness. And when the eyes focus directly on the face of grace, it does something supernatural, it caulks the heart with mercy and love, hope and more joy. Our granddaughter, she has her multi-shaped shells in her glass jars at home, tiny grains of sand visible, His thoughts laser-beamed her way. And I re-position the work of art we purchased on vacation last month. On the day He nudged me close.
Oh my soul, you're not alone.