On the way home from work the other night, a movement just up ahead in the sky caught my attention A massive flock of starlings were stretched across what seemed like the entire sky, fluttering like a giant ribbon. Whether just beginning their annual journey South or continuing on, their goal was unmistakable. From what I’ve noticed, Southern Maryland fowl tend to receive the “moving day memo” much later than those in my home state of Minnesota, the latter varieties mostly long past the mason-dixon line by the beginning of November. Here in the mid-Atlantic, the migration seems to occur in spurts over a period of months. Just when you think all those loud Canadian geese have left the premises, you are rudely awakened early one Saturday morning to a chorus of out of tune, insensitive shrieking. Who needs the annoying neighbor?
This particular late afternoon I found the birds fascinating. Their ability to swiftly and efficiently maneuver about the open sky seemed a slap in the face to us road-raging, vehicular commuters. No stop light, blinker, or speed limit necessary. Instinct would keep them safe to their destination, even taking weather conditions into account better than we! Where they thrive, we make a mess. Oh to exist as perfectly in accordance with the Creator as these feathered creatures!
Such sightings as these always leave me in wonder. I could just barely make out the head of the flock many miles beyond my little Alero, but the trail seemed to infinitely flow into the distance, the end nowhere in sight. There were just SO many birds! Usually I see the typical dozen or so flying off in that signature “greater than” sign, so to observe thousands upon thousands of little starlings all at once was nothing short of breathtaking. This was one of those “God sightings” that leave your jaw hanging and you mind swimming with “how” questions.
Moments like these can sure bring a gloriously fresh sense of perspective! So then why do I so often over look them? I'll tell you why. My typical day is filled to the brim with chore and duty and self-groping. I spend most of it in a tunnel; in my little world. And most people do. Therefore, it is extremely refreshing to occasionally notice something so outside and beyond myself where, in an instant, I lose my bitter attitude and even possibly bid farewell to a pity party. (The food and music are never good at those anyway.) At times these instances come in the form of majestic creation, such as our migration phenomenon. Other times they appear as a deep red-orange sunrise, or as the refreshingly crisp scent of Fall, or as a myriad of sparkling tree branches the morning after a vigorous ice storm.
Nature seems to have a way; or rather, God tends to use nature in such a way that seems to brings Himself into the sphere of our senses. These things remind us Whose world this is. These things cause us to realize our appointed stewardship to both care for and appreciate this world, the desired outcome being His greatness and our delight springing from our hearts. Perspective, indeed. Most of the time my world is so small that I am the only one who fits into it. And even when God catches my attention, such as in the form of a rainbow, a juicy orange, or the beautiful face of my husband, the moment flees before I consciously capture it and make something more of it, before I can make it linger, before I fully embrace the GOD of all things glorious.
Yet God continues to display His greatness to us in these ways, whether we take hold of them or not. I think perhaps the reason these moments seem to occur most often on the road is simply for the lack of distraction. It is just the wheels and the driver, and often a few Christian radio tunes, which tend to steer my thoughts heavenward anyway (no pun intended). This is a time when I absolutely cannot do anything else but think, within the realm of highway vigilance, of course!
It’s funny how I am thinking about all of these things, and this very morning on the way to work the Christian radio host asked listeners to call in and tell about an extraordinary God-experience within their ordinary life. I had just flipped on the radio while they were in midst of this discussion. Coincidence? I don’t think so. The man on the phone described an instance where, over the Christmas holiday, he was to meet his family at a famous live nativity display in Pennsylvania. For some reason he faced a few obstacles earlier in the day so that he thought he for sure would not make it all the way across the state in time to be with his family. He began to drive anyway. About halfway there he noticed that he was hitting all the green lights which, in his experience, rarely happens. He usually catches all the red lights. (Boy, can I sympathize!) The caller’s point was that God’s grace allowed him to make it to the display in time to share the special evening with his family. “God was in the green lights!” And I would agree with that, as God is certainly just as sovereign over details as He is over major events. I would even say that God's presence goes way too often unnoticed in these cheery moments.
I love it, though, what the radio host stated in response. “And we have to remember that God is also in the red lights.” Oh how we despise those red lights! I tend to break out in hives at red lights. And it seems there is always some 18-wheeler or school bus in the front of the line, making it impossible to get a quick “pick up” once the light finally turns. Red lights force me to slow down and even have the nerve to force me to stop! Why I never take red lights into account when I plan my day is beyond me. Why wouldn’t I expect them? Why do I sulk when it takes me a measly five extra minutes to get into work? Red lights are a part of life.
The truth is that most of us see red more than green. In every aspect. We face the difficult way more than the easy. What is easy, is for me to think God is not in those red lights. I would rather He not be. I would rather not view God as Someone who sovereignty places obstacle and discomfort into our lives and messes up our perfectly efficient schedules. But I’ll say most of the time that is the only way He can flag us down long enough to get across our numb skulls, “Hellllllooooo! Who’s in control here?!” My guess is that He probably enjoys using sunsets and flowers to get our attention more often than broken bones and traffic jams, green lights more than red. And yet, he is still in all of it.
Lately, when God reveals His greatness in the form of gorgeous displays, such as he did the other days with the birds, I have been prompted to pray for those around me who might be seeing the same thing. I pray that those who do not know God will see Him here, in this thing. Whether in the bright sunshine of a pleasant day, or in the striking contrast of a looming storm cloud, I figure these moments are not for my benefit only. I am also beginning to do the same thing whenever I see a car accident scene, or hear an ambulance siren from my apartment. I pray that others will see God and His grace in those situations as well, whatever the outcome.
But honestly, I need more prayer for myself than I pray for everybody else! I miss so very many green and red light moments that I don’t allow God to show up in my life nearly as much as I need Him to. Why does it have to take a big display of some sort for me to know He is there and that He is working? Why does my response to God depend on whether or not the outcome seems favorable to me? Why do I consistently resist red lights in my life and embrace only green ones, if I embrace them at all?
Sometimes I believe that if I didn’t have to work so much, or that if my commute to work were shorter, or if I weren’t so tired, or if life weren’t so stinking hard I would be able to nurture a closer relationship with God and let Him work in my life. I wish for some sort of Eden or something. While I definitely won’t find that here in this flesh, I have to remember that I can at least catch glimpses of it in the green lights and savor those moments. And in red lights I can hold on and drink fully of the reality that these moments prepare me for Eden.
Perhaps the green lights are meant to grant us hope for the red, as reminders that another green light is not too far off. After all, every red light eventually turns green.
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