Fog-it's heavy this
morning, 'five mile per hour heavy.'"The Sun."
"Can the wind take it?"
"I don't believe so," I say squinting through the thickness, "just the Sun can take it away."
We drove, in caution, with our fog lights on-piercing nothing-minimally telling others, "Somewhere in this, people, we are here!"
In my mind's eye, I saw us. When things aren't clear ahead, or we can't
see 'our' way, we should slow down and hold tight to One who is above it.
My three year old son challenged me when I said, "God is above the
fog.""No, Mommy, God is the whiteness."
The whiteness.
He is. He is beside us, above us and shielding us; keeping, for a time, our way covered, or sometimes completely concealed from view.
1. If we choose to stand still and peer into dense fog, our eyes can play
tricks on us: we see something, or we don't?
Standing there, it is hard to trust.
2. If we choose to walk forward, we find what's ahead gets clearer, though
where we once stood, has now disappeared. Backward and forward, in the fog,
our visibility remains consistent with itself; we see only "this"
distance.
3. If we decide to lean on what we know is-our truth, we
could speed through saying, "I know this way." And sometimes in our 'knowing'
we open ourselves to risk, unnecessarily.
Fog paces us (against our will, at times. We have places we need to be, and we're already later than we meant). Despite us, and this life we are daily doing, our lives are often subjected to the pace of the 'whiteness,' leaning on truths unseen, we are believing God (who is superior to all that our limited eyes behold) has us. He is directing our path (for His name sake). And He, the antithesis of heaviness, is the one who paces us, who makes us stand, who lifts our life's path fog.
On this winding road now, as a stop sign comes into clear view, I know now, my
answer is absolute:
Only He can lift such things. Only He can take them away.
Who is He?
He is the Son.
