LOVING AWE

 

 

Let my whole being bless the Lord!

Lord, my God, how fantastic you are!

You are clothed in glory and grandeur!

You wear light like a robe;

You open the skies like a curtain.

Psalm 104:1-2

 

I again wake deep into the night: this time as my husband, Tim, murmurs, “It’s happening;” this time it’s on the Florida Gulf with the surf echoing Tim’s call.  Awaiting in awe on our balcony we observe the earth’s shadow creep across in front of the moon.  A blood red moon with swirls of crimson and cinnamon finally stares back.  Magnificent.  God, the Artist, you’re at it again.

I thought it was enough to discover olive shells with intricate chocolate shadings, to jump with joy as a child shares her sand creation, or to follow dolphins’ twisting shadows just beneath the water’s surface, hoping to catch their silver shine as they leap high above the surf.  But God continues searching through his splendors to share with us.

Could there be anymore?  Of course.   It’s Holy Week.  The Lunar Eclipse echoes with a deeper symbolic splendor.  Just as Jesus’ dark horrific death blocked out some of God’s Light temporarily, the moon, too, was blocked temporarily by the Earth’s dark shadow. 

Adam Hamilton is pastor of the Church of the Resurrection in Overland, KN.  His church was rocked by the three violent deaths in that city, two of whom were church members.  He said, “Easter suddenly seems so much more important to me and for our church and community this year as we remember on that day that neither evil, nor hate, nor even death has the final word in our lives. “

Blocked temporarily, God’s magnificent love is still handed out by Him

THAT KIND OF WINTER

I awoke at 1:06am with a start.  At first I thought it was morning.  The full moon cast bright bleached white light through the windows of my northern Michigan home with such abundance I thought for sure the sun had taken over. Forming deep shadows in snow, creating withering white twists and turns on the laden pine branches, I lost my breath to its beauty.  It’s been that kind of winter in Michigan.

 

For the last couple of years when someone complained about minimal flakes falling, or the need for knit hats to cut the chill, I always responded, “But it’s good for the Great Lakes lake levels, harshly low and receding yearly.”  This year with so much of our beloved Lakes frozen over, even the national news is echoing the cries of those who closely observe the Lakes in our front yards. Scientific explanations cite slower evaporation shutting off lake effect snow and ice, serving as fish egg protection from predators.  Nature lovers talk about crystalline scenes and exploring now accessible ice caves.  Driving along Grand Traverse Bay ice fishermen hauled sleds to favored fishing spots,  sweepers formed hockey and skating rinks, and crazy ice kite flyers hung on for dear life as they whooshed and whisked with the wind.  And even the wolves of Isle Royale are happy as their years of seeing and mating with the same wolves might be over with Lake Superior ice allowing them to travel to different mating grounds or even new wolves discovering them.  It’s been that kind of winter in Michigan.

 

Buried deep in life’s depression or the chaos and clutter of normal living, it is often hard to dig out: to reach the level where star bright crystals shimmer and shudder.  Oftentimes it isn’t in the middle of a frosted February or a mud deepening March.  It’s just the day or circumstance itself.  But then the moon wakes you to beams of beauty, you hear about wolves with new girlfriends or you catch the wild Bay wind of exhilaration and you know without a doubt, life will be good and pure again.  It’s been that kind of winter in Michigan.