Last time, through the words of George MacDonald, I suggested that God often sees what our mole-eyes cannot. And I said it was time for a new dawn.
Last week, I drove west from Oakley, Kansas to Denver. I had looked carefully the radar before leaving and knew there were tornado threats, part of a massive cold front moving from south to north that stretched across hundreds of miles.
The first two hours were sunny but windy. Suddenly, towering in front of me and covering the horizon from south to north was a giant coal-black cloud mass coming at me from the west. By this time I was sixty miles from anywhere and there was nowhere to hide. Just as the hail began, I parked under a bridge to wait it out.
But this was no isolated storm. I realized that the decision I was about to make might mean life of death.
So I began to go from bridge to bridge, repeating over and over, “Your wisdom alone, Lord; your wisdom alone, Lord…” When I left the third bridge, I knew I had made a mistake. The storm began to rage all around me, yet I continued “your wisdom alone” now out of fear. I had trusted God, for better or worse.
Just as the storm peaked and I could hardly see, I noticed an odd hint of color on the horizon between frantic slashes of my wiper blades. I drove several minutes with lightning striking on every side. Then it hit me. Was I seeing the setting sun penetrating the storm from the other side, just barely? It was my new dawn – if I could hang on just a bit more, I would break through to the other side.
God could see clearly what I could barely detect with mole-eyes.
What does God see about the unity of his children that I can sense but not see yet?
Am I prepared to move on through the storm of disunity on his wisdom alone?
Next time, we shall see Miss Clare’s answer.
Last week, I drove west from Oakley, Kansas to Denver. I had looked carefully the radar before leaving and knew there were tornado threats, part of a massive cold front moving from south to north that stretched across hundreds of miles.
The first two hours were sunny but windy. Suddenly, towering in front of me and covering the horizon from south to north was a giant coal-black cloud mass coming at me from the west. By this time I was sixty miles from anywhere and there was nowhere to hide. Just as the hail began, I parked under a bridge to wait it out.
But this was no isolated storm. I realized that the decision I was about to make might mean life of death.
So I began to go from bridge to bridge, repeating over and over, “Your wisdom alone, Lord; your wisdom alone, Lord…” When I left the third bridge, I knew I had made a mistake. The storm began to rage all around me, yet I continued “your wisdom alone” now out of fear. I had trusted God, for better or worse.
Just as the storm peaked and I could hardly see, I noticed an odd hint of color on the horizon between frantic slashes of my wiper blades. I drove several minutes with lightning striking on every side. Then it hit me. Was I seeing the setting sun penetrating the storm from the other side, just barely? It was my new dawn – if I could hang on just a bit more, I would break through to the other side.
God could see clearly what I could barely detect with mole-eyes.
What does God see about the unity of his children that I can sense but not see yet?
Am I prepared to move on through the storm of disunity on his wisdom alone?
Next time, we shall see Miss Clare’s answer.
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