Morning surprises. I pull back the window curtains, to face the day. What I face is a sky still stuck on night out there. A chill wedge of white moon hangs in the black. Frost hills and valleys decorate the window pane—on the inside. I push down the sash to scent the air frost—but quickly push it up again. Yet before I turn from the window, I stand just a little bit longer, stand and look out at January, at horizon and sky, expecting nothing extraordinary.
Then suddenly it flashes past like a jet-propelled twinkle. A shooting star! A big and bright one, but with arcing so brief that an hour later I almost doubt it was what it was.
God moments are like that sometimes. A bright flash here and then dissolved into the black, stealing your breath as much as chill air, yet leaving you feeling a little later that maybe you just imagined it.
That’s why I’m writing down God moments as soon as I can get to my journal or computer or mini-notebook these days, recording it just as it is before I doubt it even was, even though I still might doubt that it was what it was.
I need to in this cold dark winter of time and globe and soul. Elizabeth at Just Following Jesus in My Real Life says, “Winter never lasts forever.” But sometimes it seems like it will. It feels stuck, and so do I, like a frozen slug on some metaphoric ice jam, though time itself keeps tick-ticking by.
“Watch for the God moments, the fact of His presence,” I instruct myself. “Keep AWARE! And note them down as soon as they flash by. Or by evening and the coming deeper dark, you will have forgotten.”
What God moments have flashed past you this week?