He Still Hangs the Moon

The cares of this life are thieves.  They rob from us while we watch, eyes trained on their every move.

I wish I could tell you I am too much a veteran of their schemes to be taken in anymore.  At this time of life one would imagine experience has taught me its lessons, and all danger of being victimized is past.

One would be wrong.

For some time now, I have allowed those rascally cares to run amok in my soul, robbing me blind.

Really.  Blind.

It is what they crave.  The little creations of our tiny imaginations and self-centered natures are themselves blind to the reality of joy that fills our lives as humans made in the image of a loving God.

And, you know what they say.

Well, the red-headed lady who raised me said it all the time anyway, so I assume it must be true:

Misery loves company.

If the little monsters can’t see joy and truth, they are determined to steal the ability from anyone foolish enough to afford them shelter and sustenance.

And so, with my permission, they have been at work again in my own soul.

At times when they work their craft, the darkness is profound.  The black of this night is, I think, made all the more encompassing by my willing participation in the malfeasance.

An evening or two ago, as light shone brightly—too brightly for me—in my house, I crept to my office to let the thieves practice.  While the Lovely Lady and our guests worked and laughed and played happy music, I sat alone in the dark and pulled the misery over me like a blanket.

After the lights were finally extinguished at the house and all were asleep in their beds I left my office and, blindly walking hand in hand with the little unseeing pickpockets, headed toward home.

Three words.  Really.  Just three.

I know folks who hear a voice that speaks whole volumes.  Entire poems.  Sometimes, they carry on conversations with the voice.

Me?  I get three words.

Lift your head.

I know.  It seems a bit inadequate, doesn’t it?  It’s kind of like saying chin up to a guy heading to the gas chamber.

Lift your head.

Then I noticed it.  All around me, in what is normally a pitch black yard, the air fairly glowed with light.  Long shadows were cast by the tree branches above me.

I lifted my head.

The brilliant and huge full moon hung almost directly above, washing the night time world in its reflected light.  It was astoundingly beautiful.

He still hangmoon-1055395_640s the moon.  Every night.

He still wakes the sun every morning and sends it on its daily rounds.

I’ll admit it.  The notion isn’t all that scientific, nor is it an accurate description of what actually takes place.

Still, it is His power that keeps all of creation doing what it was designed for.  (Colossians 1: 6-17)

The realization struck me as powerfully as those beams of light had just seconds before.

His plan is still in place.  I’m part of that plan.

His plan is still in place. I'm part of that plan. Click To Tweet

I’m part of that plan!

Every one of us is.

I looked back down to check on my cares, but all the little felons had disappeared.  They can’t stand to be in the company of light.  Just as in nature, the darkness of doubt and despair flees at the coming of light.

I’m not naive.  Darkness will come again.  It always does.

Cares will crowd around to steal again.  They always do.

But the truth is, light will come again as well.

It always does.

He still hangs the moon.

And, not just for me.

Lift your head.

 

 

 

But you, Lord, are a shield around me,
    my glory, the One who lifts my head high.
(Psalm 3:3 ~ NIV)

 

 

‘Now, lord,’ said Gandalf, ‘look out upon your land! Breathe the free air again!’

. . .Suddenly through a rent in the clouds behind them a shaft of sun stabbed down. The falling showers gleamed like silver, and far away the river glittered like a shimmering glass.

‘It is not so dark here,’ said Théoden.
(from The Two Towers ~ J.R.R. Tolkien ~ English novelist/poet ~ 1892-1973)

 

 

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2016. All Rights Reserved.

Physician, Heal Thyself

I sat at the dinner table earlier today and let my tongue explore the new sensation in my mouth.  A sharp edge that very definitely had not been there a few moments before caught the side of the exploring organ and let me know there was something very different. Painfully so.

I have broken the side off of one of my molars. 

It is not a happy discovery.  And, as my mind considers the possibilities—indeed, the probabilities—for the future, I sink rapidly in an almost depressed state.

At least, I would sink into that state if it were not for a thought that strikes me at about the same time as the inclination to be unhappy.  The thought actually makes me laugh now.

No, my tooth still hurts a bit.  My tongue is still rubbed raw where the jagged edge of the tooth abrades it at every opportunity.  

Yet, the thought remains.

A young man sat at that same table with me less than a week ago and had a similar experience. A crust of his pizza chipped a tooth in his mouth.  His reaction was much the same as mine, albeit a little more visible to the others in the room.

dentist-797305_1920Frightened at what the near future would hold, he shed a few tears and let out a few moans.  His mom attempted to allay his fears, but still, he wondered about what would happen.

Before my company left that evening, I wrapped my arms around the young man’s shoulder and encouraged him that most things we face are not nearly as bad as we imagine.  

God takes care of us.  In a week or two, you won’t even remember this happened.

Even as my memory of the event sharpens into focus, I find myself arguing.  I have other problems, too.  There are schedules to meet and expenses to pay.  Appointments must be kept. This is too much!

It’s too much.

I’m chuckling to myself as I write.  As if my problems are any worse than that young man’s.  What arrogance!

Do I believe my words to him or not?  

Does God take care of us or not?

The young man and I will both make trips to our dentist this week.  I firmly believe my words to him.  Still, I wonder why my first thought at the sign of a problem was to fret about it.  It’s not like this is my first time around this particular block.

And, as my mind calms regarding my dental problems, the eyes of my heart begin to see other things more clearly: Things which have taken over my thoughts and my life over the last few days and weeks.

They are disastrous problems, to my mind anyway.  I want nothing more than to turn back the clock and undo the process by which they appeared in my life.

Schemes and plans and worries consume me as I attempt to see a way through the troubles.

Somehow, I have to figure this out!  

I sit here thinking, and with my tongue I worry the sharp edge of my broken tooth absent-mindedly.  

Ow!  That’s painful!

And stupid.  

I don’t have to worry the tooth at all; it’s just a natural reaction to things not being as they should be in my mouth.

Do I need to write any more words here?  Even though I have a multitude of thoughts to share on this subject, I’m nearly certain I’ve said enough.

Nearly certain.

The Teacher asked,  “And who of you by being worried can add a single hour to his life?” (Matthew 6:27 ~ NASB)

Maybe it’s time for me to take my own advice to the youngster.  It was, after all, passed on to me many years ago by folks much wiser than I.

God takes care of us.  He’s got this.  And me.

He’ll do the same for you.  

In a week or two, we won’t even remember this happened.

 

 

 

Not half the storms that threatened me 
     E’er broke upon my head,
Not half the pains I’ve waited for 
     E’er racked me on my bed.
Not half the clouds that drifted by 
     Have overshadowed me
Nor half the dangers ever came 
     I fancied I could see.
(Anonymous~circa 1900)

 

Peace I leave with you; My peace I give to you; not as the world gives do I give to you. Do not let your heart be troubled, nor let it be fearful.
(John 14:27 ~ NASB)

 

 

 

© Paul Phillips. He’s Taken Leave. 2015. All Rights Reserved.