By Lydia Jentzen Will
It happens in the afternoon, and not every day. The sun strikes the south side of the house and someone opens the curtains. In it pours, and the kids come from all over the house to stand for a moment in the warm pool of light that appears on the floor. In these dreary winter months, a gift. A promise. A whispered hope.
It wasn’t hard for me to envision the tool shed in Justin’s sermon, and not just because our house is little and cramped and over 100 years old. I get that analogy because in the mash and mayhem of a day spent here, sometimes I look around and it’s hard to spot – those little reminders of promise, hope and purpose. When there are dishes to do, laundry to ignore and the personalities of 7 other people to navigate, I can lose sight of it completely. Hard to spot, but always there.
“Meditation in a Toolshed” captures the now/not yet tension of flowing the #RealJesus. @CSLewisDaily @StLukeAnnArbor http://t.co/m8jpa8dNP0
— Justin Rossow (@JustinRossow) February 23, 2014
A few years back, I began reading a blog that later became the inspiration for the best selling book “1000 Gifts” by Ann Voskamp. While Ann’s words touched me, the photos on her blog went even farther. She inspired me to count my gifts in many ways, but one was through a lens.
While I’m still not a great photographer by any stretch, I love to take pictures of my every day surroundings. Focusing on the little pieces of light that flicker around the edges in this life reminds me of God greatness through small and humble things. Details I miss until I take a moment to look longer, closer. These are the bits of glory that shine through the cracks of my life, the particles of hope that I pile high in my heart and cling to every day.
The eyelashes of a sleeping baby, raindrops on windowpanes, and, yes, even the magnificent piles of snow everywhere – they tell of a forever God. An intentional Creator. A plan of love and forgiveness and rescue that spans generations and includes each one of us.
These are the bits of glory that shine through the cracks of my life, the particles of hope that I pile high in my heart and cling to every day.
I loved the idea of looking along a sunbeam instead of right straight at it. I’ve often been encouraged to “take the long view” when raising kids and navigating life, so that idea was a familiar one to me. The present can feel like all there is at times, but in taking the long view we can connect our little lives to the strand of His story.
For me, I’m reminded, one picture at a time. A glimpse of Son-light, hope and promise.
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