Do you see the mountains? They were clear as day in person, but I just about missed them as I scrolled back through my photos from Israel. You may have to squint, but they’re right there in between the blue water and the blue sky. And forgive me for turning everything into a lesson, but as I stared at this photo and tried to find the missing mountains, it was as if He said “just because you can’t clearly see something doesn’t mean that it doesn’t exist.”
Sometimes, maybe more often than not, we have only the foggiest glimpse of what God’s doing all around us. Sometimes, we can hardly see Him, hear Him, feel Him.
We wait and hope and beg and cry out. We learn to hold grief and joy together. We trust that there’s meaning in the mundane and that the in between seasons matter. We look for beauty in the ordinary and we cling to the promise that He isn’t done working. Even when we can’t see the next step, even when we don’t know quite what He’s up to and our timetable looks so different than His, we zoom in and look for His fingerprints.
We’re squinting our eyes, desperate for an answer or a promise-fulfilled to show up clear as day. But it’s there — already. He’s there — already. He is working in our waiting.
God, give us eyes to see.
I’ve been holding these words in my hands, continuing to return to them for several days.
I’m paying attention, somewhat surprised and so happy to discover the pictures and words from (and about) Israel seem to be striking a chord in both comments and in personal emails.
Social media often feels loud and full, and I’m purposely choosing to only share when I actually have something to say. I don’t want to simply add to the noise and overwhelm your feed. But Israel? These pictures and words? I can barely keep from posting each and every one, sharing story after story. And so it feels a bit like a gift to me, that sharing these pictures and words is a gift to you.
This one image, though, of the missing mountains… I just keep coming back to it, re-reading the comments left on the post, turning over the idea of zooming in and looking for His fingerprints.
I won’t presume to know what you’re going through today.
I won’t pretend to know the unknowns up ahead, the decisions you need to make, the changes coming you wouldn’t have necessarily chosen, the difficult goodbyes that are waiting or the brave hellos right around the corner.
I don’t know what this chapter of your story looks like.
But I do know that we can trust the Author.
Even when the fog rolls in and the mountains go missing, even when we can’t see beyond the next right step, even when there are far more questions than answers.
He is the One who doesn’t change, the One who remains faithful and true and constant and good and present — always present — in every storyline.
God, give us eyes to see.