Nature speaks, when we listen. Perhaps birds can be the most frequent bearers of messages. While in Idaho, walking along a hillside, I met with an Evening Grosbeak. The breeze blew the feathers of his head straight up as he lingered on a bush. But the remarkable moments came while watching this bird fly.

Although the pumping motion of his wings seemed adequate, the little creature was constantly sinking. Only short flights could be made from one tall weed to another in order to stay airborne.

Suffering from some unseen loss or wound, this bird let me get much closer than he otherwise would have allowed. But three feet was his limit, then he would plunge ahead. We traveled together like this for several hundred feet before he circled back into the subdivision and flew up to a doorway to find rest upon a light fixture. Vulnerable, without benefit of help, no doubt he would soon fall prey to a hungry predator, unless perchance a child with a B-B gun reached this wounded one first.

I thought of the similarity between the plight of the bird and that of suffering humans. When hurt, physically, mentally or emotionally, it is necessary to “fly low.” Life must be taken in short distances; forced rest comes often. It is difficult and sometimes impossible to fend without help. There is a greater need to let others move in close—far closer than normally would be needed. Such state of life seems to invite “pot shots” from those who lack understanding, are prone to criticism or judgment:  “Can’t you fly a wee bit higher? Carry a little more of the load?  Get squared away and not mope?”

Human intelligence can be a two-edged sword. The injured ones know what they have lost. There are memories of soaring high, times of having “wings on our feet,” while tasting the pleasure that comes with providing for self and others. The sorrow of loss stings and constantly must be fielded.

Yet, this same gift of intelligence grants the power to supersede, to persevere—even transpose valleys into celestial realms unseen by the human eye. How can this be done?  By acknowledging Christ, developing ears to hear His voice and the ability to respond in the spirit of the Psalmist:

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want . . . You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; You anoint my head with oil; My cup runs over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life; and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever,” (Psalms 23:1-6).

Clearly, it is possible to see Christ’s touch through the hands and hearts of others. While captured in a bed, while sick, one learns to lie still and know that God is there. Then when released again in the land of the living, there can be praise, exclamations of thanksgiving—for the gift of life resumed, even though it is not painless.

Human choice rules here. Some choose to draw inward, shrinking from loving help. Like Carl, a stroke victim and amputee who said, “I’ve learned two lessons in life:  Mind your own business. And don’t need anyone!” A felt gloom rose from his trap of bitterness. Obviously, his eyes were blinded; he could not see God all about him—nurses, doctors, therapists, dressings, medicine, plus a meal being wheeled in as he spoke. How I wanted to touch him with love, but like the little bird on the hillside Carl only felt safe in keeping his distance.

The subject of suffering has been addressed by many minds finer than mine. All of us have struggled with the questions of it. But, may each of us – sufferer and health-bearer alike—not fail to see the velvet glove of God present in every hour of pain or pleasure. May the able-bodied not “fly so high,” or so fast as to fail hearing the words of a troubled heart. It only takes a moment to stroke a trembling hand. May we lay down the “B-B guns.”  For, that is Christ in that hospital bed, that wheelchair, in that quiet, lonely home. It is Christ behind that depressed or anxious face. Countless people wait for the sound of a ringing phone. Do we care?

The speed of life is a force to be reckoned with. There are slower lanes, which can be chosen, granting time to walk a mile with those who are there without choice. Is this our “road to Emmaus,” where Christ is not so easily recognized, yet right there with us?

By Chaplain Joy Le Page Smith, MA

In past years, God captured my attention regarding my fears. Huge uncertainties about the future and qualms about the present seem to siphon off much of the peace and joy Jesus called “abundant life.”  It is those “little foxes” of fear that can rock one’s boat–big time!

The other night a dream took me on a tour of the earth. In a unique way, Father God showed me the beauties, the wonders, and the grandeur of this place called “plan-et.”  Within this dream, I am overjoyed with the colors, shapes, and glorious movement seen with God at my elbow.

The scene switches. God and I are sitting in a row boat together. He is rowing while I sit at the stern enjoying. We are in waters that are shallow at times and at other times so deep they seem bottomless. A sort of canyon like atmosphere surrounds us with rock formations to the right and to the left.

The stones are gigantic, exquisitely rich in color with veins of red and gold. The water is transparently clear. God and I are taking time out. I revel in His power to create such majesty in the formations of the earth. We are as one. And I am at peace.

That is until I think of what else is going on in the earth. I could see many “brothers” and “sisters” who did not want to be in God’s boat. Some were playing with destructive forces found in the earth. Some were grasping for power, striving to gain prestige and reverence. Never having found love, some were in a life or death struggle to gain what they considered as the next best thing. Others were making mischief just for the sheer pleasure of it, while thriving on, or ignoring, the sufferings of others. Fear struck my heart as I sat there in the boat with God. But He rowed on, evenly watching my eyes.

Suddenly I realize what folly it is on my part to fear. What, with God so near?  Wasn’t He the Creator?  Had He ceased to be in control?  Could mere humans upset His plan?  Does He not know all?  See all?  Is He not everywhere – always aware?  How can I think for a moment that the Creator can ever be thwarted by mere, finite creatures?

Like a bubble that bursts with the touch of a finger, my fears fled. Now, I see! God is in my boat and He is at the helm! Consciously returning to the truth of His love, I am enveloped with peace. Now, to let peace reign day by day . . . hour by hour. The circumstances about me need not touch this marvelous peace, if I can only keep my thoughts from the “what ifs.”  With my eyes riveted on His, my soul becomes overjoyed in the presence of His company.

Here, I catch the simple truth. Just trust. Just believe the Father’s words through Jesus His Son:  “Fear not … Lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the world.”  As my dream nears its end, the Father throws back His head and laughs. I cover my mouth as laughter begins to roll in me. Dare I laugh?  Am I so safe as to laugh in the face of my fears?

Yes, is the resounding answer! I will laugh! I will enjoy the “ride” on this river called life, reveling in the glorious grandeur seen by the eyes—and seen by the Spirit, as God is in my “boat” and He is holding the oars.

Author info. Joy is a Board certified clinical chaplain. She has written four books and many articles to help people get through the hardships of life.   View FREE her children’s book at this site’s home page. Internet analytics show people are reading Joy Le Page Smith’s blogs in up to 32 countries.