While I was in the hen house feeding the chickens and praying they would soon start laying again, the winter sun snuck up over the highest mountain and cut white rays through the densely packed evergreens.
As I exited the little poultry haven, my disappointment with the lack of eggs vanished in the wonder before me.
I have never seen anything like it. I cannot reproduce it. I have no idea why it happens here.
But it does.
The grass, stiff and frozen with billions of crystal droplets, submitted to those white rays landing on them and splitting the frozen wetness into rainbows. The grass looked like a carpet of priceless jewels. Droplets of every color floated over the green, sparkling in the relentless light.
My eyes tickled as I wanted to be my six-year-old self, grabbing handfuls of frozen gems and stuffing them in my pockets so that I could run inside and spread them on the kitchen table for separating and counting and using to make some beautiful project.
My older, smarter, wiser, and way less fun, adult self dared not move. The light was already doing so and the wonderful splash of ice-turned-jewel would fade soon. I held my breath as I counted colors. All of them were there, even teal and lavender. How a simple clear drop of ice could refract into so much breathtaking beauty is only explainable by God’s playfulness. He makes color come from clear, simply by bending the light a little. How did he think of that?
I watched the dazzling gems twinkle until the sun redirected its attention to loftier places. I simply could not leave it. Who knows if I will ever see it again. I would give anything to get a picture of it. My phone can’t capture it. It is only remembered under the “my favorite memories” label, tucked away in the file cabinet of my hippocampus. It nearly brings me to tears every time I get to see it. The yard, amidst the dead trees, leaves and empty bushes of winter, defies the dreary and fills with glory.
It's like a big ol’ fat kiss from heaven. It’s as if God is saying, “I know it’s cold and lonely and sometimes hard, but I am still watching, working, loving, giving. . . in fact, here, have some colored diamond ice on your grass to remind you that I can lay over all this cold and loneliness a beauty only I could think to create.”
I called the dogs in, made a hot cup of coffee, and added wood to the fire. I stood at the big picture window, sipping the juice of heaven laden with a bunch of hazelnut cream as the dogs found warm napping spots. The fire warmed the chill out of my legs as I thought of the precious ones who come here.
Most of those who come for renewal, or rest, or redemption, or reconstruction, or any of the other re’s, are here because life is cold and dark and lonely; or overwhelming, too busy and unsatisfying. They are hurting and often worn out. Almost always, they are without much hope.
Our hearts go out to that space and place of the heart. We have been there. We have needed the very thing we provide. The difference is, having come through, we know that miracles still happen. God comes to the one who is near giving up. He delights in showing humanity that what is thought to be impossibly broken or ruined or even destroyed—is not. He comes, bends things around some, reunites, returns, rebuilds and redoes a heart; a situation; a belief. Then, with bright white rays of love, He takes cold, dark and hopeless, fills it with light and turns it into a life of sparkling color.
Don’t believe me? Pffffft! Ha! I bet you don't
I could keep you busy for hours telling you my story and the story of others who thought hopelessness ruled until God got in the middle of the situation. I am a walking miracle.
So are the others who serve at The Vinedressers. So are the people who come here. Hopelessness filled with light turns to a miracle.
Come. I’ll take you to him and prove it to you.
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