Waiting on God

I woke this morning from a full night's sleep. I haven't gotten more than 5 hours rest each night in a week. Last night, I had 12. And I've spent the majority of the morning and mid afternoon resting other things like my mind, my feet, and my tongue.

Simplicity is key to restoring the body, soul, mind, spirit, heart and will. Today I am on a mission to war against all things that come against simple living. It is not a casual struggle. Try it for yourself, if you think I'm silly in saying such things.

I begin the morning from the couch, directly where the previous day ended. I am wearing the same clothes as yesterday. So after lounging about, flipping on the tele and realizing there's nothing worth watching, I meander to the shower. And after that, I slowly dress and hunt for the other sock to make a pair. After a few minutes climbing around things I locate said item and drape it over my bare foot. At this moment, both of my feet and the toes attached to them are warm.

The weather on my iPod predicts some rain. Outside, the birds sing, hidden from within the protection of the tree's branches near my front door. The air is heavy, wet with anticipation. But the slight breeze moves the humidity across the atmosphere...picks it up and wipes it through the overcast skies. All of this, practically invisible to the naked eye.

I scatter about, step off the porch and climb into my Tacoma. I am captivated by the presence of God in today. There is something refreshing in the moments leading up to and directly after a storm. I would imagine, even without a belief in God, even the persons most insensitive to nature, could notice the beautiful way that nature rejuvenates itself with rain.

I pick up some rather bland breakfast burrito from Sonic (that I know I will pay for once it touches my stomach). I eat it anyway, even though the trip was for coffee in the first place. I park my car in the Blockbuster parking lot of 15th and Lewis Ave, pointed towards Lewis (so I can watch people driving their cars).

I have a few lessons from John Piper on my portable device. So I hit play. And open my Bible to follow along. It is a pleasant time, without distraction. And so I sit there, waiting on my thoughts to slow down enough for me to rest in His presence. In his comfort. In Him.

I am riddled with the quick pace of the week. Strung on a line with the anxiety that weighs heavily across my back. But I am finding relief with every small, waiting moment. I know, with one hand on the steering wheel and the other digging for some tots that the economy of my inner world is being transformed. Slowly but surely I begin to think more like a child. I am now capable of thanking Him for life. I am finally at a place to accept his mercy and his goodness in my life. I mean, really thank Him. Honestly.

"This is nice," I think to myself.

And so breakfast is over. I need to grab some paint at Lowes to touch up the outside of the house. I put the Taco in gear and sputter out on the main road. God has yet to send rain to this place. I can feel it still in the air...that waiting for rain feeling. Even so, I roll down the windows and drive slowly towards Lowes, just a few miles away on Yale.

On the way to Lowes, I am driven out of the moment quickly by a small bird (no bigger than a hummingbird) that had flipped out on the road just 20 feet in front of my truck. I am cruising at a wopping 20 miles an hour, but am unable to move because of the traffic in the left lane and a curb directly to my right. All I have time to do is say..."bird" (like a kid pointing out the obvious).

It is then that I become George Constanza and pay no close attention to the fact that I need to slow down or move. It's a bird. We have a pack, right? They can play in our streets and cross our sidewalks. And they'll stay in the way up until the very last second. Then they'll move. That's the pack, or something close to it, that I have understood since childhood.

Maybe this bird was not fully-grown. Maybe it was a baby, a chic. It could have been a lame bird. Yes, that could make sense because it certainly did scatter about on the concrete a bit.

Whatever the case of the bird, in the moment, I make no recollection of the fact that it might not move. And I continue on my way, in directly line with it, knowing like the hundred times before that I've been in this spot, that birds might be stupid in some things. But knowing when to get out of the way of cars is one of those things that typically stupid birds do well.

Not this bird.

My eyes widen the closer I get to the poor thing. And in slow motion, as it usually happens, you mind works twice as fast as your body, I bite my lip and close my eyes. A half a second later, I open them and glance in the rear view mirror to see the road kill. It is flattened. So tiny was this bird, that I could not feel the impact of my tires over the thing.

What a strange occurrence. What a wild and sad deal. Poor, poor bird.

I make it to Lowes and find out the paint man needs a bigger section of my house to match colors. So I go back to the homefront, peel off a rather big chunk of paint from the siding and repeat the process of waiting in line and talking with the paint man. All the while, the unfortunate set of events that lead me to kill the small, sickly bird are in my mind. I am not thinking about it all the time. It's more or less one of those things that hangs out with you, with a presence like sadness or shock.

And I pay for the gallon of paint and make my way back to the house to sit and type these words which you are reading now. I know the day has merely just begun. There are still several hours left until the sun goes down behind the overcast clouds. God willing, I will be here on earth to witness it again, like I have for the past 31 years. Each night, the sun goes down. And each morning, it comes back up. What a marvelous sight to see. No wonder God called it good.

Save for the fact that I ran over a bird, there hasn't been much to this day. But that isn't to say it has been boring. On the contrary, I am filled with thankfulness and peace, knowing there are blessings of rest and comfort when we wait on the Lord. When we slow down enough and open our minds, our bodies, our wills to His presence, He speaks to us on our terms. And He is here with us. To walk hand in hand with us, through the days of our lives. And to forgive us for not slowing down enough to let the tiny birds get up and fly away.

There is a peace that passes all understanding in the one who created us for his purpose. There is a joy that lasts even during the deepest, darkest times of our lives. It is found in the otherness of God. The great comforter of the afflicted.