I walked beneath the pine canopy, its fingers gracefully intertwined across our country road. The forest dense and mysteriously beautiful calls to me each time I pass by. It is a refuge for my thoughts, a balm for my soul.
Scampering to my left caught my attention. A small rabbit made its way through the underbrush to a group of fallen trees that leaned against one another creating an alcove — a cleft, if you will.
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Father, the world may be crumbling around me, the depravity of man may be pervasive, and evil may have been unleashed, but this I know: My Redeemer lives!
I have no reason to fear. I have no reason to surrender to overwhelming anxiety because You are with me. You will never leave nor forsake Your children — we are the apple of Your eye, Your special treasure.
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The violin sang its mournful song as the raindrops splashed against the windowpanes, mocking the tears escaping my eyes. It had been a hard day, emotions gone awry, thoughts restless. Just as I found myself slipping into deeper sorrow, the sounds of a piano and guitar dominated the violin. The shift caught my attention as I listened closer.
In the music video, men and women began singing praise to the Lord. The mournful violin was still part of the melody, but the dominant sound was now proclaiming the love of God and the joy of knowing Him.
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Father, You are my comfort, my joy … You are my faithful God who I trust. So why do I worry? Why do I fret? Search my heart, Lord, and know my anxious thoughts. Lead me in the ways of righteousness.
Many are the afflictions of the righteous, but You promise to deliver us out of them all. For this, I am thankful. The flames of adversity are raging upon Your people. The pressures are often unbearable — our vision of You can easily grow dim in the distractions of stress.
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Its crimson robe stands out among the stark branches of the old apple tree. All around, the earth rests in shades of gray and brown, its winter dormancy visible to those who take time to see. Beneath the glistening, frosted ground and deep within the barren branches, life flows. Never ceases.
The cardinal nestled in the old apple tree must surely know this, therefore it can rest contented in the bitter cold of a mountain winter. And so its song comes easy, even in the frigid air.
I know another clothed in a crimson robe, a robe of suffering stained with blood.
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