We park in front of the two-story historic, under the maple shaking yellow mosaics on the sidewalk. Stroll past sideway houses with slanting porches of creeping fig. A blue bowl canopy hangs upside down over bursting camellias and mum busts lining steps. I feel like the Calico hunkering on the lawn, squinting in sun’s morning stretch.
My camera rocks into my hip when we turn the corner to a sea of people flocking around teak and tall sails for the wooden boat show. Pass a little girl with smudged face and wispy browns. Turn around to see where she’s going because her smallness all alone, it feels like the Mona Lisa wearing a frown.
“Where are your mommy and daddy,” H calls out to her. She turns around, lifts her shoulders and says she can’t find her Daddy, doesn’t know where he is, and continues toddling away from the crowds.
Two chubby fingers make a V on one hand when H calls out to her again to ask her age. She says her Daddy is a cop in uniform, so we scour the crowds for black and a badge. How can this tiny bit of innocence walk past hundreds of people alone without notice?
We find the cop rushing beside her Daddy dressed in Hawaiian blue. Five minutes later, he pushes past us huffing, “Now I’ve lost the boy. A little blond-haired boy.” And I’m stunned about how a father can lose two small children in a crowd that fast.
It’s what I think about when the pastor tells the story about Mephibosheth (2 Samuel 9), the crippled son of Jonathan, heir to the throne. He’s outcast in Lo Debar, soil of barren wilderness, the badlands for thieves. The place of what should’ve been, how did I get here, and the silence of God.
And just around the corner, David comes for rescue. Offers a permanent seat at the banquet table because of the covenant he made with Jonathan. A covenant Mephibosheth didn’t know about.
Because sometimes the greatest works of God reveal themselves on the heels of deafening days of saturated silence.
“What is your servant, that you should notice a dead dog like me,” responds Mephibosheth to the kindness of David.
Aren’t we all strays walking heart lame through the world wondering how we got here, where we’re going?
And He’s just around the corner, holding out his hand to take us to the Father. Drips of red on the sidewalk, they lead the way back home.
Do you feel forgotten? I’ve got good news. He will never let go.
Linking with Ann today and counting thanks for fall light and soft breezes. Time on a Saturday with H to meander around boats on shimmering shores. For pansies and snapdragons and full bird feeders swinging low. And crisp morning air drifting through screens. Warm downy blankets and sweatshirts.
Linking also with Michelle and Laura.
This is #22 in the series 31 Days of Letting Go. You can read the collective here. If you are a writer, I invite you to link up
any post you’ve written on the theme of letting go in the comments here on Friday. Subscribe to receive the series in your inbox or feed by adding your address in the side bar under Follow Redemptions Beauty.
Love this line- “Because sometimes the greatest works of God reveal themselves on the heels of deafening days of saturated silence” Beautiful. I needed this reminder today.. seems like I’ve been “hobbling” through my moments lately. I love how David’s love for Mephibosheth is like God’s love for us. Thanks for this post!
Me too Alicia. I had to wipe a few tears in church yesterday.
So thankful that the Father never forgets us–even though sometimes it feels that way. Great post, Shelly. Inspiring and insightful, as always, my friend! 🙂
Me too, so thankful.
Bless her heart! I’m glad her daddy found her.
I’ve often wondered how in the world I’ve gotten to where I’m at right now, it’s all by the grace of God, cause I don’t know where I’d be if it weren’t for Him.
Love this especially~Because sometimes the greatest works of God reveal themselves on the heels of deafening days of saturated silence. Because this has been so true in my own life.
Blessings,
Alecia
I know Alecia, its been true for me too. We’re in a season right now where he is assuring us of His presence but silent in situations. And I often think about the roots of plants far below the surface during the winter season. Giving nourishment to keep them alive, but we just can’t see it.
I am one of those strays, thankful that He’s included me in the story, and prepared a place for me. Beautiful words here. Blessings!
Yes, we strays are quite a bunch aren’t we?
what a picture of God’s faithful love for the fractured, forlorn and forgotten…I have felt like a stray at times…Thank you, Shelly 🙂
I think you are in good company Dolly. Thanks for stopping by.
David’s grace often surprises me. His deep love for Jonathan and Saul–even after all Saul did to him–was profound until the end. Lovely, Shelly.
Their story is such an inspiration isn’t it? I feel the same way.