By Jan Miller Penton
My coffee had grown cold as I sat thinking about all the ways life had changed. Who would have believed a few short weeks ago that the entire world would be thrown into a tailspin? The deadly virus spawned in Wuhan, China had spawned fear, anxiety, and uncertainty in many hearts. The past week had been challenging, and I had almost daily tussled with some form of fear or anxiety.
Yesterday, I read an expert’s report on the possibility of a meat shortage. Although I knew it was just one person’s opinion, I decided to purchase a small freezer to put in the garage just in case. I have a friend who raises cattle who would sell me beef, and I like the idea of knowing where my food comes from, and how it is raised or processed, so it seemed like present circumstances were another reason to get a freezer and some grain fed beef.
Smiling with the thought that next I would be letting my hair grow long and gray and wearing peasant dresses like any other old hippy I almost laughed out loud, but it did feel really good to do something proactive instead of sitting around worrying. First, I checked out Home Depot online, but I couldn’t find any freezers in stock. Next, I called the store because I felt sure they could order one for me. Wrong! They had nothing in their warehouse either. The same scenario played out time and again as I called every store that I could think of.
Let me make myself clear; some freezers were available, but the least expensive cost more than $7,000. This revelation stunned me. Suddenly, my fear grew over my faith, and I could actually physically feel the change.
Mike had put out our hummingbird feeder a week or so earlier, but we hadn’t seen much activity. A time or two one or the other of us would notice a hummer diving in for a brief repast before darting away. I’ve loved these tiny wonders since my little girl self discovered a jeweled beauty hovering outside the picture window as I dutifully practiced piano.
This morning a little hummer whirled past me to get a drink from the feeder. Surprisingly, she didn’t dart away after, but instead perched very quietly as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
I could hardly believe my eyes when I realized my little friend was not following the norm for hummingbirds. She didn’t rush and dart as if fighting for her next meal; she just rested. I raised my cup of cold coffee to my lips thinking surely she would rush away now, but she still sat. At least 20 minutes slowly ticked by as I looked on in wonder. By the time my jeweled friend finally flew away tears flowed freely down my cheeks, and I remembered what fear had caused me to forget. “His eye is on the sparrow, and I know He watches me.”