Just another trip to the store. Just another day. Groceries secured, I slow to take the country road curve when I hear a small soul whisper . . .
Less than a mile from home, I stop and get out, amazed by grace. I see God’s exclamation point in blue.
In circles, majesty soars, wings hardly flapping—floating elegant and strong and free on unseen. God is reaching out to embrace! He calls all to see, hopes all will step out of self-confined space, take a moment, and soak in some grace to infuse ordinary days with His wonder.
Look up! Look around! The earth is full of His glory! An embrace in the sky. God always has arms wide with desire. For us.
How sad and how easy to look forward so focused—not up—not around—to keep driving, keep pressing—pedal pushing onward to next listed thing. How easy to miss grace—to miss His embrace because eyes won’t see when schedules won’t stop, even for a moment.
I want to stay and soak in some more but I have to get home.
And even there . . . is grace. More grace.
I hear them first, this warbling trumpet procession in air. And then I look up. I look up to see wafting ribbons of wings spread wide across sky, floating up and then down on unseen holding, no need for flapping. Sandhill cranes resting migratory wings kept high on rising columns of air—a whole string of stretched out flesh-and-blood crosses right above our south field. And they hover on grace. So far to go, so much to do—but they still take time to rest, to float, to be held by their God.
Consider the birds of the air . . . He says softly, gently beckoning all.
Can we rest in Him who keeps us aloft? Can we stop flailing and flapping, just for a moment, and learn to float free?
If birds of the air dare, can’t we?