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Looking Through the Fog

The early morning fog hung heavily, suspended from the morning skies across the still meadows the way a chandelier hangs from the ceiling of an ante-bellum home. It’s density obscured the surroundings, blocking the fullness of their view, and leaving only traces of trees and hills in the background. Cattle moved graciously from once spot to another, almost indistinctly as the fog camouflaged their presence. The world was quiet and the scenery was beautiful.

As the sun began it’s ascent from the eastern sky, it painted yet another portrait on the still meadows. As it gave off its life giving light, every drop of moisture making up the fog began refracting the light in such a way that the countryside began to glow as if it were on fire. The lush green trees lifted up the colors of the burnt orange sun. The grasses in the meadows lifted their arms heavenward, as if they were soaking in the moisture, the sunlight and singing Hallelujah to the Lord above. The once dark cattle now glowed with the color of the sun.

I stopped by a stream and watched God do His work. The water rippled slightly from the movement below its surface. As each ripple stood up, it was as though they reached and grasped a handful of sunlight, bent and challenged by the fog. The waters glowed in the presence of the sunlight as it woke to face the dawn. The waters were cool, and as the sun invaded their surface, a light steam lifted ever so slightly to join the fog and mix it’s colors in hopes of joining in the display.

Moments into this picture, the whole world began to change. The sun grew brighter. The cattle, the trees, the hills and the grass became clearer, and the light of the sun whisked away the dim colors, evaporated the fog and lighted the meadows with bright sunlight. The waters surrendered themselves to the sun and ran quietly toward the river. The once obscure landscape was now visible for miles. God had taken this negative, made it gorgeous, and then put it away until another day.

Before I left home this morning, I remarked to one of my sons about the density of the fog the morning before, gently warning him to drive more slowly and watch a little more carefully. “It was really bad out there, yesterday,” I said. “I know, Dad,” he replied. “It was bad.” With that in mind and anticipating another morning of fog, I left home. I suppose that was why it was on my mind so. That is when I began to see it differently.

As I watched God display the colors of the morning, and hide everything while He did his work, revealing only bits and pieces as He chose to, I saw the fog in a different light. I thought to myself, “This is what trials are like.” We often face a trial like we look at fog. “Boy, it sure is bad out there,” we think. While, all the time, God is repainting the canvas of our lives to give us beauty and grace that will convert them into a masterpiece.

The trials, just like the fog, often obscure the beauty of the moment, and all we can see is the trial. When you backup, however, and take another look, through the haze you see that the trees are still there, the meadow is still in the same place it was the evening before, the birds still grace the skies, and the grass is still in its place. If you look at the trial not as a fog of harm and obscurity, but as a canvas skillfully painted by the Master, you will see the colors and the outlines in the background. And, just like the fog, soon, in the light of the “Son”, the trial will fade away and your life will have been graced and refreshed once again by the hand of the Master.