Dear one,
Yesterday morning I awoke feeling somewhat “leaden.” The feeling was not the “January doldrums,” of which I wrote previously; rather, it was more a heavy malaise, exacerbated by my immediately rehearsing the day before me: I need to check on materials sent to Romania; I need feedback regarding monies for Uganda; I need to set dates for Malawi; I need to reconsider the October dates for Romania; I need to ...
Whatever the exact cause of my malaise, as I prepared breakfast, I burned the bacon, which only added to the weight I felt. (By the way, when experiencing “malaise,” don’t keep the bacon warm by placing it under the oven broiler …) At any rate, as I trudged into our study—hoping that moments of quiet reflection might alleviate my downward spiral—there they were.
As I looked out our study window, the world white with yet another blanket of snow, there, just outside our window was a bevy of birds feasting at two feeders. For several minutes I was captivated by their frenzied feeding—and as I grew quiet, I was reminded of Jesus’ words:
“Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:26)
Heeding His imperative to look intently (for such the Greek word, ἐμβλέψατε, suggests), I realized afresh that all of us—even in the midst of a leaden malaise—seek to know and experience the loving care of the One who gives life. If the birds of the air receive His oversight and care, will we not receive His loving bounty in far greater measure? As I looked upon the feeding birds, the answer was clear, a resounding “yes,” an affirmation fully consistent with Jesus’ invitation:
“Come to me all who labor and are heavily burdened, and I will give you rest.” (Matthew 11:26)
I know that I have shared these words with you previously—nonetheless, how good to be reminded that we are of worth beyond human calculations. Do not Jesus’ Cross and Empty Tomb tell us that? Moreover, will He not provide us rest, if we but come to Him, not unlike birds coming to a feast already prepared?
Now, because I purposefully watched an unfolding feast, did my heaviness immediately lighten? No, but as I lived the day, my needs were met, even as were those of His birds.
Watching,
Stan