Little things
Lately I have been even more aware than usual of the power of those very personal, and to others very insignificant, demonstrations of God’s presence in our lives. Little things speak more loudly, it seems, than big ones. This morning I’ve been reflecting on two incidents recently that made the point again.
The first had to do with an opportunity I had to take up an offense for my daughter. She was treated unfairly, and I was spluttering incoherently inside for several days running. I wrote and rewrote (unsent) emails, prayed for justice, and had numerous self-justifying conversations with Yours Truly. I also prayed for more grace for the others involved.
Then one day, I realized that down deep, beneath all the noise of my self-interest, the incident didn’t really even bother me that much. It was an opportunity to give to others and carried no real cost. My daughter didn’t actually seem all that bothered about it — a little, but not as much as I had been.
It was a gift of vision from God, and I’m thankful I didn’t miss it: a glimpse of two realities, the flowing stream of my emotions, and the deeper spring from which they originated, both with very different characters. The deeper reality was the life of God within, and I could choose to reside there — rather than in the turbulent rapids of my wounded pride.
The whole incident was small in the grand scheme of things, and very personal. No one outside our family even knew about it. But God showed himself to me, helping me to respond differently than my initial reflex, answering prayer.
The second incident may sound silly, but it impressed me. I have struggled with fear over the last year or so, especially in the area of nature exploration. It has been a wonderful adventure for our family to explore some of the local, and not-so-local, natural areas to learn about the amazing world God has given us to care for. But over the last year I have gone out less, worrying about what I would do if I met a wild animal or an unsavory human in some isolated area. My husband reminds me that God has given us authority over creation, an authority we access by faith. So lately I have been “running towards the roar” by going out anyway.
I took our dog for an early morning walk recently on our vacation in the Adirondacks, and as we set out along some railroad tracks to look at warblers, a huge dog (mastiff?) appeared and trotted purposefully toward us, tail raised, head down, eyes locked on my (much smaller) dog.
This is not good, I thought. I am alone. I have a dog that’s not very well-behaved. And that dog looks menacing.
As he came near and sniffed my dog all over, I tossed up a prayer: “Please, Lord, send him home. Protect us.” It was brief, but intense — definitely an inward shriek! Then I spoke to the dog, telling it quietly, “It’s time to go home.” He looked at me consideringly, then dropped his head and turned away. He didn’t go home right away, just sniffed the ground. But he lost interest in us.
If I hadn’t prayed, it would have been, at best, merely a happy ending — or perhaps it would have ended differently. But I did pray, and it became a demonstration of a divine companionship willing to enter into something so comparatively small as my interaction with a strange dog.
I record these things because I want to remember. God speaks to me in small things. It’s the personal equivalent of Elijah’s “still, small voice,” and I don’t ever want to be dismissive of its power, in my life or anyone else’s.
