To Remember

Lately I've been thinking a lot about God. Things for me have been unsteady for a good long while-- 5 months, to be exact. But then the year turned and I resolved to infuse my own faith and trust into God's promise that if I put him first, all else would fall into place and everything would work together for my good.

My, have things worked together for my good. I have a plan again. A fragile one, but a plan all the same. I have hope for the future. I have direction. I have a little spark in my soul.

But still, it's easy to forget God. It's easy to forget that the Supreme Creator of the Universe even exists. It takes willful effort, to remember. I have to look for him myself--in the pattern in the clouds, the faces of the people, the sunlight through the window, the silence before sleep.
Yesterday, on our drive home at dusk, there was a sparrow-shaped cloud on the horizon--just for me, Little Bird. This morning a friendly man in a crowded metro car pulled me inside right as the doors were closing. I thanked him as I got off, and he nodded with a small smirk of his own.

Yes, God is still here, even in this land of hurried commuters and dissatisfied businesspeople and aspiring entrepreneurs. It seems that so few remember him, and it breaks my heart because they're missing what matters. I wish the world wasn't so overwhelming. I wish we would all just be quiet and still for a second. A second to see God.

I have this thing for dead trees.

I love trees in the winter. Have you ever noticed the beauty of bare branches against a blue sky? Or even better--against a pink or orange or purple sky? It's one of the most breathtaking things, I'm telling you. Leaves are nice too, of course. But you can't see the sky through the leaves. You can't see anything through the leaves, really. In some ways, I think that leaves maybe even mask the true beauty of a tree. Yikes. Is that blasphemy? Stay with me here... A bare tree is exposed and vulnerable. It is as it is. There is no facade.

In the darkest and coldest and bleakest months, stripped of cloth and color and comfort, that bare tree, bark and branches, still stands. It still stands. It stands noble and strong, uncovered and unconquerable. Beautiful. A different kind of beauty, yes, but beauty all the same.