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on goodness
In the grand scheme of the world, there is goodness.
As the sun slides up over the horizon again, the world is washed in a light that promises at least one thing: newness. There is always the whisper, the glimmer of light that says "I am not sure if a miracle is coming, but I am sure that one could come."
The Psalmists, poets and soldiers and priests and kings, wrote of our world as the best parts of God made tangible for our weary souls, reminders of God's unimaginable love in the waters and God's generous mercy in the dawn.
It is easy to wake each day and feel our heart begin its slow acceleration in our chest, growing tighter and more confined as the hours tick by, the heavy anxieties and anticipation of a full to-do list hovering like a heavy blanket the minute we open our eyes. But, in the wash of the early morning, we can remember that there is always the possibility for goodness, for a miracle.
In Psalm 104, the Psalmist writes,
“All creatures look to you to give them their food at the proper time.
When you give it to them, they gather it up; when you
open your hand, they are satisfied with good things.”
In the early morning light, where is God's hand opening towards you? What might happen if we talked with God about our heart's experience–about what we feel deep in our bones? If we were honest with our fears, and perhaps more terrifying still, honest with our hopes? If we knew God listened and actively held us like a mother holds her child? What might happen if we considered what that holy satisfaction feels like in our bodies, and if we remembered God's quiet faithfulness and the way God filled us up once (or perhaps, many times) before?
What parts of creation is God using to remind you of God's promises to you, as God lavishes us with good things? And how often do we walk past those good things, forgetting to notice them, or forgetting to gather them up?
Our God, who lives in our bodies, is wildly insistent on nearness to us, even when anxiety, tragedy and rage cloud our eyes to God and the truth of our identity as beloved. When we are feeling alone, abandoned, and empty, may we follow the Earth's example in active remembrance of the way we can depend on our Creator. God will give us what we truly need when we need it, even if it is only a whisper of a hopeful possibility with the dawn.
May we search for the goodness made visible by the Light, may we store it up in our heart, may we cling to it with all of ourselves.
