There is Fury in a Pheasant's Wings

Nathan Stam
Children/Communications Pastor

I can see God's love in my little boy. I'll stare deep into Tobin's eyes as he struggles at first to focus on me and then finally finds my face only a foot away from his. His two month old blue eyes look into mine and I watch as he traces my face (probably wondering about all the hair and whiskers!) with his gaze. And then he smiles. This is a smile I could die for. Whole worlds could be made from this smile and new words spoken and deserts filled with water, it's that kind of smile. His whole body turns into a smile and my heart gets quickly lost in the never-ending, rescuing, always-faithful love of God.

I can feel God's peace when I listen to music. I like lots of different styles, but I'm thinking of Andy McKee, specifically. He is a master and he's been given a gift. When I hear his fingers dance over the strings I can see the Giver of all good things. My heartbeat slows and all around me fades into a rhythm of contentment. Not even my four year old chasing my three year old over my lap while howling like a wolf can break my trance. I'm swept away by chords and melodies and lyrics like, "There's fury in a pheasant's wings."

I know God is real when I stand in the Appalachians. Early one morning, Kristi and I climbed to a ridge in the Shining Rock Wilderness and stopped to catch our breath. We could see forever. A painting stretched out in front of us brushed with colors and textures that I couldn't come close to naming. A river of clouds ran through the peaks in the mountain dawn and we were taken away. Transfixed. Not even noticing the burning in our thighs. The sun lit the clouds and turned them into a river of fire. And we were standing above it all, lost in the creative majesty of our God.