It’s the strangest thing to step out the back door with mowers thrumming in the neighborhood and motorcycles zipping on the interstate a mile away then to spot a dark speck circling overhead. The form is a red-tailed hawk unexpected in this environment, but there he is lazing in curves. His eyesight amazes me. He can spy small, camouflaged creatures from an astounding distance. What must it be like to peer down from that height with only the sound of wind through his feathers? Oh, what vistas he must behold, yet he is not distracted away from scanning for squirrels, birds or mice.
News and to-dos interfere with my inner eyesight. Covid, tropical storms, rioting, elections, and chores distract me. All of these demand attention, but what’s important? On what should I sharpen my focus?
I’ve been reading, They Say We Are Infidels: On the run from ISIS with persecuted Christians in the Middle East.
A father, with his five young children snuggling next to him, poses on a sagging couch with its stuffing oozing and trash littering the floor. I would not want to touch the couch, much less sit on it, and I couldn’t rest with scraps of paper and dirt scattered underfoot, but I doubt the kids or their dad notice. Each family member wears a modest smile, undistracted by lesser things. Their sense of the presence of each other eclipse everything in their surroundings. Threats on their home and their lives fade into the background. Shoulder against chest and leg against leg infuse a wholeness in the family’s smiles and body language. I can almost hear the children’s unconscious thoughts, “Daddy’s here,” and hear the father’s more conscious thoughts, “I’ve got my kids. God is good. Amen. Selah.”
We spent the weekend with our son and his wife seven hundred miles away and are safely back home. The trip across three states gave distance from my small world. Vicariously traveling to Iraq in the book, likewise, placed me remote from my comfy couch. Everything falls into perspective. None of us have Covid. No one seeks to kidnap us or confiscate our homes. Wearing or not wearing masks doesn’t matter as much. Even our country’s wobbling doesn’t shake my insides.
Like the hawk, I see a different perspective from an enlarged scope. This world is the journey to my real home where health and peace abide and where the king is pure, powerful and permanent. Worries creep in and blur sight, but after refocusing, home draws near as does the King who rules all worlds. That knowledge seeping inside sends wholeness. God is good. Amen. Selah.