Perspective

She took the advice of her aunt and uncle tonight and went for a walk. She had just finished dinner, washed and put away the plates and decided that the upstairs attic room felt a little too empty, a little too sparse. Whatever seemingly innocuous indulgence she may have allowed herself that night (a tv show, a movie perhaps) now seemed distasteful. Its mind-numbing effect the opposite of what she wanted to feel tonight; she wanted to feel alive.

At 7:00 pm that evening Cambridge welcomed a thick warm rain. Heavy drops soaked the wooden window sill , and by the time she had clamoured up the stairs to close the window her books were already soaked. Now, an hour and a half later, there was this incredible smell. The houses didn't look wet; they looked relieved.

Crossing Jesus Lock she came to a fork in the road. To her left was the path she took to church each Sunday; to her right the path leading up the river; and in front of her a tree lined path that opened up into a clearing. She had only walked through Jesus Green once before, a year and a half ago when her father came to visit. It had been spring time then and they had seen ducklings swimming in the stagnant water. But tonight was something different. She thought about her father as she passed the benches and the trees; she thought about her aunt and uncle, their two boys and the time she had spent with them in London just the week before; and she an ache, one that surfaced every time she thought of family and the places they had walked and traveled together.

What made tonight special was not the rain, the trees, or the memories that were passing through her mind. No, it was the sky. Notorious for donning a hat each time she went out, she was without tonight. And because of that (such a small thing), she could see above her line of sight. 8:45 pm now and the sky was between day and dusk. This she had noticed: whenever the rain stopped, the clouds became three dimensional. They took on depth and shape. Light fell in hidden places and everything looked grander.

Her mind was a whir with so many thoughts. She had so many questions to ask. But as she walked she felt Him falling in step and as she looked up she realised that she was looking at His face. The grandeur of the sky only a fraction of His countenance. Rain the expression of His grace. She then remembered back to one Saturday morning when she had asked Him to help her understand. 'Help me see Lord', she whispered. It was the same as it had been that morning. He couldn't give her any answers, for everything had its season, and each season had its faith. What He could give her He did. He could give her peace.

The funny thing about peace is that it is a kind of non-answer. But it is forever a prerequisite to faith.

Posted on August 7, 2008 at 03:31PM