We woke this morning to the whisper of a fog bank, a kind of visual murmur reminding us that summer is nearly over. Unlike the thick, soupy banks that will later blanket coastal shores, these clouds drifted and draped themselves around the landscape then, like gossamer threads, touched treetops before disappearing. I both dread and revel in this pre-autumn display; both celebrate the glory of its delicacy and plan for dark and rainy days of fall and winter.
Fog teaches so many lessons but none so powerful for me than to know that those mists can only hide objects, never move them. As a child I remember an entire week when fog was so thick it prevented city buses from running; drivers simply couldn't see where passenger stops were located. Living on a small island up the West Coast of British Columbia, fog was a way of life. So thick it was at times, we would determine the location of our incoming ferries by sound alone. Visual contact was impossible.
Life can be like that. Whether preceded by a mere inkling of trouble ahead or without warning, enveloping us in clouds of confusion while we grope for relief from our pain or loss, we cannot see. Sometimes, it seems, even God Himself is hidden. How good to know no power of earth or hell can move Him. To those who have entrusted their lives to Christ, in time the fog will lift, revealing Him in even greater splendour.
"We don't yet see things clearly. We're squinting in a fog, peering through a mist. But it won't be long before the weather clears and the sun shines bright! We'll see it all then, see it all as clearly as God sees us, knowing him directly just as he knows us!" 1 Corinthians 13: 12 (The Message)
