By, Emily Sealy
The small Canadian town I live in is often called “The River Valley” because two rivers meet up here. Our home sits up a hill on the side of one of those rivers, overlooking the town. Often, on a spring or fall morning, we will wake to a heavy fog covering the entire valley. I wake in the morning, open all my curtains and all I see is fog.
Something about those cool foggy mornings makes me want to just sit and be still. There is a distinct quietness in it that causes me to be calm and want to observe my surroundings. It is actually quite beautiful to look at. But there is also a feeling of uncertainty. When the fog is at its thickest, I can’t see much beyond the edge of our yard. I can’t see what is “out there.” I can hear cars passing on the street, birds chirping in the trees, and dogs barking in the distance, but I don’t necessarily see them.
But here is the thing - I know what’s out there. I know that, underneath the fog, there is the quaint little town that I live in, the place that I am so familiar and comfortable with and that I call home. I may not be able to see it currently, but I know it is there.
This makes me think about my life. There are times when the “fog” of a trial, the “fog” of uncertainty is covering everything. All that I know and find comfort in seems to have disappeared. Everything that I usually find my security in seems gone. I try to look around but I can’t see what’s just beyond. It’s hard to know what is out there.
And yet, I do know what’s there. It’s God. Even when my vision is clouded over and I may be fearful of what I can’t see, I know that God is still there. God, who is my Comfort, the One whom I am familiar with, the One in whom I can find my home. I may temporarily not be able to “see” evidence of it, but He is there - in the heavy thick fog just as He is in the light clear air.
And just like the early morning fog always lifts and goes away revealing the town that I knew in my mind was there, the fog of my trials always lifts as well. It may last longer than I want, it may be thicker than I like, but it does eventually vanish and clear away, showing me what I know is always there — my faithful God.
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