“The wind blows where it will.” Controlling the wind is not an easy thing to do, but men are trying to harness it everywhere. I see huge blades going down the interstate. They are part of large wind turbine fields where power is being transformed to electricity.
I hope that wind doesn’t become just another commodity, because it is much more mysterious and wonderful. The sound of trees recently in the night air outside as I went for firewood was the product of an orchestra set up by God and the coursing breezes across the Kansas hillside where my home rests. I could choose that night to not listen, but fortunately my heart was not closed to the performance.
So much of life comes down to listening to quiet sounds. It is easy to shut out the choir because of the past pains and present alarms. A tear drifts down our cheek and instead of feeling it we wipe it away not wanting to feel all that God is doing. It can’t be good, because it hurts, we think to ourselves. We miss the sound of breeze of God’s grace because our hearts want to be insulated from all things outside of our control.
Just because we can’t control it does not mean that it is uncontrolled. The liar says to our hearts, “it is random and without purpose.” But listen closely it may be a note of song not yet fully sung. God is composing not a jingle for an advertisement, but a sonnet for His love.
My nephew plays a flute. I think God plays a winding flute; haunting, bold, careful, and measured. His flute sings to my heart, but I only listen to parts. As I grow older may I listen to more, and be less frightened by each pause.
