Droplets

I’m back in Buck Creek this morning, and little drips of condensed fog are hanging from the limbs of the tree outside our bedroom window. With even a slight wind they’d be shaken off, but instead they hang like round, white jewels – little lights that refuse to fall.

The sun is trying to burn through dense fog that blurs the background. In so doing it illumines those drips until they shine like morning stars in the grayness. They are, in fact, the first things that meet my eye as I scan the view: symbols of fog transformed.

In an analogous sense, it seems sometimes the soupiness of life can be condensed in similar ways – into crystalline drops (of suffering/pain and mercy/healing) that bear our greatest testimony and reflect God’s greatest grace. I want eyes to see them as a primary focus rather than being distracted by the fog