God’s Shadow, Our Shelter

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This afternoon I reluctantly attempted to write the chorus for a worship song. I never felt the pull to write it, but I did feel the pull to at least try. And it was in the trying that God taught me a bit more about himself. I love how God does that.

Why was I attempting this, especially if I was reluctant to do so? I was following a prompt from a devotional for a small group I’m in. The prompt directed readers to use the working title Shelter, and to read Psalm 91 as inspiration. The minute I picked up my Bible and started reading, I knew why God had given me the pull to try: he wanted to bring Psalm 91:1 to my attention.

Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High
will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. (Psalm 91:1, NIV)

That’s an image that never appealed to me much. I hate being cold, but love sitting and resting in a warm patch of sun, like a cat finding the sunniest spot to nap in from the light streaming in through the window. So the thought of resting in a shadow—one I think of as dark and cold—never seemed attractive. But as I read this, I thought about that shadow, that resting place. And a thought occurred to me: But God is light.

How can light have a shadow?

True, without light there are no shadows. But the light itself does not have a shadow; the only thing that truly casts a shadow is something standing in the way of the light; that is what gives shape to the shadow. The shadow belongs to the thing blocking the light.

What does it mean, then, to be in the shadow of light? Of the source of light? Not just the source, but just—light?

This is the message we have heard from him and declare to you: God is light; in him there is no darkness at all. (1 John 1:5, NIV)

If there is no darkness in him at all, if there is just light, then it stands to reason that the shadow of light is light.

The picture this has always invoked in my mind changed. Rather than sitting in the dark, the coldness, this shadow—the Almighty’s shadow—is a place to which one can run and be bathed in light and warmth. Those who need shelter and rest can turn toward him and feel the light. Because to be in his shadow is to be in light, not darkness; in warmth, not coldness. I saw a picture of a warm embrace, of light and love and truth bathing the one who longs for shelter with peace and rest for the soul.

As these thoughts came to mind, so did one of my friends. This friend is in deep mourning for her sister and is longing for his light.

Friend, you are in it. She is in it. It may not feel like it right now, but God’s shadow is light, and I have no doubt you and your family, who have run to him, are wrapped in his arms and bathed in his light. I pray that you will feel the warmth of his tears—he grieves with you, as he grieved with the family of Lazarus—and feel the warmth of his embrace as he consoles you and cares for you. Know that in him there is no darkness, only light; there is no death, only life.

April, Au Naturel

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One of my favorite things to do is to get out into God’s creation, go for a long walk or hike, and take my camera along. I was able to do that today for the first time this year and thought I’d share some of my favorite photos from today. I’m not a professional, but I thoroughly enjoy using my camera.

This first one is different from the rest, but I am just in love with it—a beaver’s dam. It was just picturesque.

It’s different from the photos I normally take because I don’t do many landscapes. For some reason—perhaps stemming from my love of antiques—I like to take pictures of old, broken down remnants of the past or close-up photos of nature (even dead nature), like in the series of photos below. (And if anyone knows what the item in this first photo was at one point, I’d love to know!)

I was also working on another challenge from Jenny Randle’s Courageous Creative (I mentioned it in yesterday’s blog, too), this time to take a photo representing 2 Corinthians 5:17: “If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!” Honestly, I didn’t find anything on this particular trail that just struck me as the this is it image I had to capture, but I did appreciate being able to think about what that would be—for me, perhaps a mushroom (growing out of the decay of something old—and because for some reason I am obsessed with taking pictures of them, although I know nothing about them and don’t eat them); a caterpillar’s cocoon or a butterfly; etc. The closest I got was this, a photo of the same plant with both an old, dead limb and new growth:

But I chose this one to put the verse on instead—an old tree limb with fresh moss, and in the unfocused background a vibrant, green plant: new growth:

If anyone is in Christ, the new creation has come: The old has gone, the new is here!

I think both of these depict us—Christians, believers in and followers of Jesus—as we are in this world: the dead part is still there, still visible, still a very real part of our lives. But the new growth is also evident and it is the part of us that is alive, vibrant.

Hunting for just the right photo made me think of how we must die to ourselves to truly follow Christ (Matt. 16:24-25), and all around me was dead vegetation that was giving way to new life, or trees that were reawakening after the sleep of winter, the shedding of their old, dead leaves. In Christians, this is the sanctification process—and I am so grateful that God strips away what is old and dead and gives us this new life, makes (and is making) us more alive than ever before.

Front Porch Musings

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This morning, in the pre-dawn hour, I sat on my front porch and looked and listened and wrote. I had a purpose, I had my coffee, and I had my phone’s flashlight to see my notebook when I needed it. My purpose was to complete a challenge in creativity by observing the creativity of the Creator. And when I was done? My soul could not help but to respond in worship, in song. (I’m hoping I didn’t wake my neighbor up.)

The challenge was from day two of Courageous Creative, a study I’m doing with a small group through my church. (For me, this is the continuation of a journey I started a year ago—that’s for another post, another time though.) The challenge was to go somewhere, observe God’s creation, and write using action verbs about what God has done in his acts as the Creator. I read the challenge last night and decided to wait for my favorite time of day and not to go far—my front porch was all I needed. And I bent the guidelines, using the action verbs for God’s creation as well as for him.

God met me there on my front porch, and it set the tone for the entire day: All day songs of his praise have been bursting from my heart, my lips. I’ll share what I wrote with you, and I would love it if you took up the challenge and shared it with me. This post won’t have any photos (it was too dark!), but so much imagery. I hope you enjoy God’s creation as it was this morning through my eyes, my words.

…

5:43 a.m.

The cool spring breeze
blows strands of hair against my cheek
gently tickling my neck

Rain drops fall singly, together
interrupting the joyful chaos of the birds’ morning song
(but not quite)
(they sing on through the rain)

A single cloud reflects light
but other clouds are there
now pouring out their offerings on the earth—
or are they crying?
Crying in bursts and fits
now sobbing,
soon slowing
washing—
trying to wash the earth clean before the new day begins.

The birds sing on
trying to awaken the dawn

The earth soaks in rain
yields its fresh, earthy scent
(smells like worms)

The moon is behind the clouds
bright
smiling with its half face
poking through the holes in the clouds
and pointing the way to the sunrise yet to come.
It is what gives the single cloud(s) its brilliance.
The cloud tried to steal the moon’s light
masking it as its own
but could not compare to the moon
(which does not compare to the sun).

Tree limbs stand stark against the grey
grey of the morning
grey before blue
the Herald
Light is coming.

Lightning plays hide and seek
just out of the corner of my eye
fairy-like, it makes me wonder
was it there, or was it my imagination?

The world outside my door is ALIVE.

The grey gives up the sky
but clings to the clouds
as the earth turns its face toward the sun
(or is it turning its back on the night?)

Myarrow
my dog, my companion
wonders at the early excursion
sniffs the air for remnants of the breakfast
I forgot to share
shakes the lingering raindrops
from her ears

An insect
a speck of black against the bluing sky
flits into and out of my sight
the coffee is warm in my mouth, my throat
and lightning still flirts with my vision
(there? or not? hiding just out of sight?)

Lord, you have done all of this
and it is good.
A hint of orange kisses the horizon
caresses the earth as I retreat
to awaken my sleeping children.

But first, a song bursts forth from my lips,
my heart.