Cottage

On the wall above my desk hangs a picture drawn in pencil, an old gift to my wife from a dear artist friend who, along with his wife, became Allison's second parents while she was in college. I like this picture because the artwork is so elegantly simple and beautiful. Every time I look at it I think of Dale, a rare kindred spirit to my creative soul.

The winter is cold. Cloudy skies cast a shadowy gloom over a snow-covered meadow. Two wind-stripped beech trees, sketched in intricate detail, reach upward in front of me, with a towering evergreen forest far behind. The land is bare. Tufts of grass poke through the snow in the clearing. And the cottage, squatting below the pines like one of those Lincoln-log houses I built as a boy, lay in the distance with a rugged fence around an empty pasture.

But where is God in this picture? That is what I want to know. My first thought leaps up instantly, "God is in the cottage, of course!" And it makes sense that He would be there. He is our home, our eternal rest, our haven of warmth in the midst of winter's chill. But the cottage is so far away! God is there, and I am here. He is within, but I am without. He is warm, I am cold. And I do not know if I can span the distance, for I have traveled far and am weary from the journey. If God is in the cottage, what if a blizzard comes? Alas, I am lost.

This cottage has been long forsaken. The firewood is neatly stacked but none of it used. No smoke billows from the chimney. There is no barn for livestock, and the pasture is barren. The clouds have obscured the sun and moon, no light remains to rule either day or night. The stars are scattered throughout the cosmos and offer no guidance, no comfort, no granted wishes. Where, then, is God?

God is not in the cottage.
God is not in the snow.
God is not in the trees.
God is not in the clouds.
God is not in the picture.

Where are you, God?