In the past few weeks, in the course of my daily walks, I have taken up my winter tradition of admiring branches. With the leaves stripped back, you see trees at their essence. There is something architectural and stunning about their shapes— it’s like seeing their hearts. But I have also been struck this year by the nests that are held so delicately in their branches. I will see a tree that I have passed countless times in the past months and suddenly say to myself, “Oh! That was there all this time!” Tucked safely away in all that green, rustling exuberance, were little woven cups of home, of safety, of protection.
There is something so moving in seeing a precious shelter revealed, only after it is no longer needed. It contained something so small, so delicate, so vital, but now they stand empty, as an emblem for the security we long for. And isn’t it true that we so often do not see the protection, the security, the support we are receiving until the need has passed? I can’t count the number of times when God was giving me exactly what I needed, and I had no idea. Like a small, blind, newly hatched bird, I could not see the very thing holding me up. Maybe noticing these nests is something like gratitude. Something like naming and remembering God’s faithfulness that showed up in ways that were hidden from me.
I have been reflecting recently on that well-known and oft quoted passage from Philippians 4, and I noticed something the last time I read it. I usually, understandably, get caught up in the first bits: “Rejoice in the Lord always!” “Let your gentleness be evident” “Do not be anxious about anything.” To be honest, sometimes these parts feel more burdensome than comforting. Because I do get anxious about a lot of things! I frequently don’t rejoice! This last time that I took this passage up, something struck me. As it so often does in the Bible, all the good stuff, the really rich, vital, gooey stuff takes place after a pesky little conjunction:
“And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.” (v. 7)
Honestly, all the rest of it sounds like work. Really difficult work that I fail at an awful lot. But this part sounds like a nest. Our anxiety is lifted, not because we try really hard, and pray fervently, and beg God to make us stronger. It is not even because we pray and petition with thanksgiving. It is because the peace of God will guard our hearts and minds. We will be enfolded and protected in the secure nest of God’s peace, even if we don’t feel particularly peaceful ourselves. God’s peace is like a nest that we may or may not even be aware of— holding us up, offering us shelter, being strong enough on our behalf when we can’t do it ourselves.
Wellspring 