The weather.

My little preschooler is working on a project about the weather.  We talked about what makes the weather (God, obviously, she informed me.) and how each season has its own unique weather.  We don't see snow in July, do we? I questioned.  Of course not! She giggled.  We are writing what the weather each day has been on a little chart each night before bed.  Her father writes the date, and she gets to draw the appropriate symbol to show the day's weather.  Sunny, cloudy, big swirls to show wind.  Yesterday was her first day of record-keeping.  Her excitement about keeping track of what she sees outside the window is contagious.  So contagious, that she didn't lose it during the night.  She bounded out of bed this morning and bounced straight to her desk.  She grabbed her pencil and the chart she had only started yesterday, took a quick look out the window, and announced, "I'm going to write this down right now!"  I protested that she didn't really know what kind of weather the day would hold, so we should wait and observe until this evening.  My clear-headed logic hit a wall, as fluffy snow fell outside her window.  She wanted to record snow so badly it was unbearable to think she should wait a whole day to fill in Tuesday's box of weather.

I think there is truth here: the beginning is not necessarily indicative of what the end will be.  I can begin my day frustrated and irritable, and one silently breathed prayer can right my attitude.  By the time I am tucking the young ones into bed at night, the day has ended nicely.  An invite for God to intervene and the beginning is radically different that the conclusion.


 A son is enticed from the family home, taking his inheritance with him as he leaves.  A man refuses to abandon communication with his God and  is thrown into a pit of lions.  A woman loses both her husband and brother-in-law, and with them her hope for a son dies, too.  A man who claimed to be humanity's salvation died on a bloody cross.  Until...the son returns to his father, drawn home by boundless love.  The lions refuse to eat their bait, and he is promoted to second-in-command over the kingdom.  A charitable landowner marries the widow and she bears a son who will in turn father one of the greatest kings in history. The man who claimed to be salvation walks out of his tomb three days after his death, saving all mankind from the punishment of a just God.

When God enters the story, the plot is dramatically altered.  The ending is full of joy when the beginning held no such promise.  We, who know the One who writes all stories, are living in the beginning.  What joy awaits us eternally.  What peace is in store for us each day as we continually let Him write our daily endings.