As I sat on my couch yesterday morning, I had the distinct impression God wanted to give me something. A postcard from heaven, perhaps. I thought He might be telling me it was in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. I literally threw on my shoes, grabbed some tennis shoes in case I decided to hike down to a waterfall in Cades Cove, and vanished from my home.
As I entered the park, the beauty of the fall leaves forming a canopy over the road astonished me. I could not believe how amazing they were. The yellows and oranges left me breathless. The forest is secretive, magical and healing in any season. Yesterday, in the height of their autumnal glory, the trees that populate it were literally glittering with joy. There was no sun to wash them, highlight them. Only a steady drizzle that, in some places along the way to Cades Cove, turned into rain.
I kept thinking about how fall color like this isn't supposed to have such a "wow" factor on a rainy day! In such weather, the leaves are usually muted and nearly sad. Reds and oranges become muddy-brown and rust, almost. Not yesterday. I drew an analogy to the life of Christ in me, to the potential He birthed in me forty-seven years ago, and, most importantly, to the beauty of walking side-by-side with Him.
When trees are at the peak of their fall color, a sunny day makes them look as if a light has been switched on inside every leaf. They shout at us, they are transformed under the power of the brilliant light of the sun. The potential for this beauty is hidden in each leaf, drawn to its full potential by the rays of the orb God formed by the word of his mouth. Without the light, their potential remains hidden. Same with us. Unless we allow the light of God's truth to obfuscate the lies of the devil, we will never shine as the whole, unique, gifted people God created us to be. We won't shine for his glory and enjoyment. We won't know the fulfillment of being all we were made to be. Similarly, we have been offered full, enduring, moment-by-moment fellowship with Jesus, the sweetest, most attentive lover our soul could ever know. If we are not open to His constant communication, a relationship that should make us glow with joy, peace, love and contentment will be cloaked in secrecy and the hide-and-seek games we play due to cherished sins, and will result in a life that does not shine for Christ, doesn't make others want Him.
As I drove the scenic loop through Cades Cove, taking dozens of pictures of mountains shrouded by mist, of trees in scarlet robes, of fields stretching into mountainous horizons cloaked in mystery and the blue haze these hills are known for, I kept an eye out for that postcard that I knew was coming. I thought it would probably be a mama bear and cubs. It was. As I rounded a bend in a slow-moving train of cars, there she was, not far from the road I would be passing her on. She never looked up as I creeped by in my car, snap, snap, snapping her photo. I tucked the image of mama and babies into my heart, folded them into my soul for later. A bit further on I tried to tell myself that seeing a bear was not so rare (for me), and that this was coincidence. A still small voice beckoned me not to dismiss God's sweet love note to me in the form of that little family under the tree by the scenic loop. I chose not to.
One final lesson awaited me as I sat in bed googling, of all things "battery-operated candles that don't glow orange." I have two wall sconces on which rest two wonderful, battery-operated candles that I simply detest. They glow orange. They make my dining room look like a Halloween display. Can't stand them. I want lights that glow cream, or white. Gentle, but peaceful and pure. My google request gave the search engine a migraine, apparently. It took Chrome a few seconds to come up with some stuff. Apparently other people are okay with an orange glow. I don't want my life to glow orange. That's tawdry and tacky. That's cheap and easy-to-get. I want the pure glow of the Holy Spirit to illumine every passage in the halls of my heart.
As I entered the park, the beauty of the fall leaves forming a canopy over the road astonished me. I could not believe how amazing they were. The yellows and oranges left me breathless. The forest is secretive, magical and healing in any season. Yesterday, in the height of their autumnal glory, the trees that populate it were literally glittering with joy. There was no sun to wash them, highlight them. Only a steady drizzle that, in some places along the way to Cades Cove, turned into rain.
I kept thinking about how fall color like this isn't supposed to have such a "wow" factor on a rainy day! In such weather, the leaves are usually muted and nearly sad. Reds and oranges become muddy-brown and rust, almost. Not yesterday. I drew an analogy to the life of Christ in me, to the potential He birthed in me forty-seven years ago, and, most importantly, to the beauty of walking side-by-side with Him.
When trees are at the peak of their fall color, a sunny day makes them look as if a light has been switched on inside every leaf. They shout at us, they are transformed under the power of the brilliant light of the sun. The potential for this beauty is hidden in each leaf, drawn to its full potential by the rays of the orb God formed by the word of his mouth. Without the light, their potential remains hidden. Same with us. Unless we allow the light of God's truth to obfuscate the lies of the devil, we will never shine as the whole, unique, gifted people God created us to be. We won't shine for his glory and enjoyment. We won't know the fulfillment of being all we were made to be. Similarly, we have been offered full, enduring, moment-by-moment fellowship with Jesus, the sweetest, most attentive lover our soul could ever know. If we are not open to His constant communication, a relationship that should make us glow with joy, peace, love and contentment will be cloaked in secrecy and the hide-and-seek games we play due to cherished sins, and will result in a life that does not shine for Christ, doesn't make others want Him.
As I drove the scenic loop through Cades Cove, taking dozens of pictures of mountains shrouded by mist, of trees in scarlet robes, of fields stretching into mountainous horizons cloaked in mystery and the blue haze these hills are known for, I kept an eye out for that postcard that I knew was coming. I thought it would probably be a mama bear and cubs. It was. As I rounded a bend in a slow-moving train of cars, there she was, not far from the road I would be passing her on. She never looked up as I creeped by in my car, snap, snap, snapping her photo. I tucked the image of mama and babies into my heart, folded them into my soul for later. A bit further on I tried to tell myself that seeing a bear was not so rare (for me), and that this was coincidence. A still small voice beckoned me not to dismiss God's sweet love note to me in the form of that little family under the tree by the scenic loop. I chose not to.
One final lesson awaited me as I sat in bed googling, of all things "battery-operated candles that don't glow orange." I have two wall sconces on which rest two wonderful, battery-operated candles that I simply detest. They glow orange. They make my dining room look like a Halloween display. Can't stand them. I want lights that glow cream, or white. Gentle, but peaceful and pure. My google request gave the search engine a migraine, apparently. It took Chrome a few seconds to come up with some stuff. Apparently other people are okay with an orange glow. I don't want my life to glow orange. That's tawdry and tacky. That's cheap and easy-to-get. I want the pure glow of the Holy Spirit to illumine every passage in the halls of my heart.
