I've been waking up early these days. Since my morning routine no longer involves a commute or work attire that needs to go all the way to my toes, I've added a few luxuries to these quiet early hours. I listen to a couple of my favorite songs while I lay in my dark bed. Long before this quarantine life, I had put together a Spotify playlist called Lent Songs for My Heart and when I ask that little box in the corner to play it I hear the comforting and convicting words of the first two songs--I Shall Not Want and How Long. Pretty appropriate for these days. I also know that currently the sun rises over my pond at around 6:40ish and I try to have a warm cup of coffee in my hand before I perch on my couch to watch it. Some mornings it's fiery and brilliant and some days it sneaks in under clouded skies. I pause to take it in either way.
One thing I've discovered during this daily pause is the amount of life that flourishes on the pond world just out my window. Ducks gracefully land, geese noisily debate and robins quietly watch while red-winged blackbirds fly from tree to tree with pretend urgency. I've never really stopped my morning world to spend time watching theirs. These days have given me that luxury.
Earlier this week it was breezy on the little pond. The wind grabbed what it could of the naked branches and swayed them to and fro. I watched as time and time again the birds landed on the spindliest branches and held on for the ride. As they flitted from branch to branch, it was impossible to tell if they were looking for another thrill or an unsuccessful reprieve from the commotion. Occasionally, but not often, one would land on a larger branch close to the trunk and if I could read bird body language, I would say that they relaxed their wing shoulders and unclenched their beak jaws. It seemed so simple looking from the perch of my living room window. Stay near the trunk, little bird! There's plenty of solid branches with lots of availability and there's no risk of getting tossed about by each unpredictable gust of wind.
How many times in this last month of our new and interrupted life have I chosen to spend too much time on the wind-whipped branches--taking in spoon-fed and panic-filled news, scrolling through random posts looking for encouragement. It's so easy. The unstable branches beg you to grab them when you're looking for a break from flying about.
Today is an Easter like no other. For the first time in probably all my life, I will not physically celebrate in the company of other grateful, joyful Christians. It's hard and I have a renewed appreciation for the stability and safety that comes from gathering with other believers as we celebrate Christ's victory or just worship God in unison. Church for me is one of those stable branches near the trunk. A peaceful calm in our busied lives.
The winds are strong right now on the other side of my four walls and sometimes even inside them. It will take effort to find the solid, peaceful places as Easter passes and we grow weary of the windy world that has settled upon us. Those solid branches, held in place by a solid trunk and even deeper roots aren't going anywhere, neither is the God who created them. He's there, just waiting for me to find safety in his promises that will last far longer than this pandemic or the stories that will be told for generations to come. I'm going to continue, maybe with a renewed effort each day, to find my way to the solid places, closest to the peace and security of a risen Lord. He knows my flitting about and quietly waits for me to find a peaceful place close to Him.
And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.
~Philippians 4:7
