Half an oyster shell sits by my bathroom sink. Every morning I see its dull grey-brown surface and am reminded. Of the unseen. I have it by my sink, so I can watch the rainbow of colors appear on its surface when I hold it under the running water. Like magic, brought to life. As I gaze for a few moments before my busy day, I ask God to help me see what might otherwise go unnoticed. To give me eyes to see the unseen.
Some days I see. Like last week when I was looking forward to a long car ride with one of my sons, anticipating the kind of conversation that usually only takes place in solitude. We were hardly out of the driveway, when both of us were furious with each other. My hopes for meaningful conversation were met with thirty minutes of thick silence.
But the silence gave me time to think (after I’d stewed) and to pray for vision to see the unseen. And I did. I saw past frustration, anger, pride . . mine and his. Our conversation was marked with humility, sensitivity, and insight.
Yet sometimes the unseen remains so, and it’s only embraced by faith in a loving God who sees all.
Daniel called late last Wednesday night. His friend Lucas’ father had passed away suddenly. Only fifty years old, he’d died of a heart attack while jogging. Daniel had spent Sundays with the Pedersen family and had even gone to lunch with Bjarne, Lucas’ dad. While I didn’t know him personally, I feel such gratitude for his generosity of heart and home toward my son. My heart aches with the loss this family has sustained. But as we stayed in touch with Daniel over the last week, we’ve heard of a peace that has surrounded and strengthened all those who mourn.
Today, Daniel called again and told me about the memorial service yesterday. How there were hundreds in attendance and hundreds more across the ocean viewing by streaming video. All testified to the impact of this man’s life on theirs. A man who loved God, lived a life of integrity and generosity, and has left his family with a legacy of truth and love.
In the midst of such pain, it is faith in the unseen that wraps a mourning heart in comfort and hope.
There’s so much happening that we can’t see.
Find more of Christa Wells beautiful music here
Giving thanks for a thousand things . .
647. peace that passes understanding
648. a life celebrated
649. hope that sustains
650. a son whose life was touched
651. a group of friends that surround and hold up
652. an institution that has truly created community
653. a new place to call home
and in the unseen
654. unsettled hearts
655. tense confrontation
656. hard, tight places
657. fearful and discouraged friend
658. uncertainty
659. sorrow in death
but yet
660. a certain hope
661. no more sting
So easy to be swayed by externals.
I liked your thankfulness list.
Visiting from Ann's…Yes, there is so much that we don't see. And isn't that why we make time to grow our lists, so if only in the smallest way, God willing, we open the door of seeing just a sliver?
Nice to meet you. I'll enjoy spending some time here.