A few months back (late August actually) I wrote a piece called “Finding feathers,” because for a week or so I was. Finding feathers. They made me think of hope, and they still do, thanks to Emily Dickinson’s lovely line: “Hope is the thing with feathers/that perches on the soul/that sings the tune/without the words/and never stops – at all.”

Oddly, I’m seeing feathers again. Only now, instead of spotting them one at a time, I’m finding feathers in scatterings of seven. Seven perfectly matched feathers; all within a few feet of one another, at various times and places. I’ve found five sets of them so far, each slightly different from the one before it. I know this sounds ridiculous and strange, but at the risk of being thought ridiculous and strange – bear with me.

Isn’t it possible that God could choose to speak hope, or encouragement, or wonder or direction or reassurance in any way He chooses? After all – He is the God who made feathers, and lit up desert bushes, and caused a donkey to speak, and fire to fall, and a fleece to be wet, then dry, and seas to part – isn’t He?

Sometimes He shouts. Sometimes He whispers. Sometimes He seems to wink – just to say, “I’m here, and nothing gets by Me. I see everything, and control all that I see.”

I’d be far too careless with the things of God if I told you I know what the feathers mean. I can’t. I don’t. Maybe they’re a whisper. Maybe they’re a wink. Maybe, if I keep finding them, they’ll add up to one big shout. Or maybe not.

What I am sure of is this: God invades our world often. He invades my world often. And I think I miss too many of those moments because I’m not expecting them. I don’t look for them. I don’t listen, and watch, and hope to hear His voice in whatever way He chooses to be heard. But I’m finding more feathers – so I’m paying closer attention.

I’m trying to keep my eyes and ears open, and my heartstrings tuned. I’m trying to take in the small things, as well as the large ones, and to bless His Name for every single wonder that I pass. And I’m learning to glory in the reality of a mighty, awesome, all-knowing God who delights in delighting me with the littlest of things. You might say I’m learning, finally learning, to feather my nest with His love.

“I wait for the Lord, my soul does wait, and in His word do I hope. My soul waits for the Lord more than the watchmen for the morning; indeed, more than the watchmen for the morning. O Israel, hope in the Lord; for with the Lord there is lovingkindness, and with Him is abundant redemption.” (Psalm 130: 5-7, NASB)

© Leigh McLeroy 2005
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