Seeing through the Fog

Blessed is he whose transgressions are forgiven, whose sins are covered. Blessed is the man whose sin the Lord does not count against him. – Psalm 32:1 & 2

When I walked into early morning the Father greeted me with a damp moisture that enveloped me completely. Lately I prayed God would allow me to see deep into the things around me, allow me ability to describe them on a different level, understand them more fully. And though many times before I have stepped into fog, this morning I saw things I’ve never noticed before. This is what God taught me about fog.

Crossing my arms to block the frigid air, I meandered into the yard, grass cracking like panes of glass beneath my feet. I pursed my lips and exhaled a stream of warm air. Steam formed and it swirled gently, never dissipating rather clinging to the mist that covered me. The hand of the haze reached out taking me in its grasp leaving a dampness that chilled my arms. The fog pushed in and out as though it were waves breaking gently onto a sandy shore. My vision cleared and I squinted, trying to find sight through the foamy whitewash.
I gingerly blew a second breath into the wetness of the air. Again the cloud twisted and turned, lifting itself into the vapor that washed past me.

The cool moisture chilled my lungs as I took it in. Lifting my hand, I softly swatted at the smoky cloud and it moved, caressing my hand like sand filling crevices –constant and conforming. This blanket that covered the early morning hours pressed against me, wrapping me tight in its clutch. This is winter in the mountains. Looking over my shoulder I could see a pinhole form in the darkness and single ray of light. Daylight. With each fleeting second that passed I watched the curtain rise and with it, the dense ocean of fog. The amber glow of the streetlights became white as the mist cleared and my skin lost its tackiness. God had taken the blanket of fog and folded it neatly, then stored in the heavens.

As I watched the birth of a new morning I saw with different eyes, the tremendous cloak of forgiveness which the Father offers me. This deep feeling of abiding within the arms of a God who can cover me fully, forget the wrongs I’ve done, and yet warm me completely, brought me to a new level of humility I’ve never known.

“There’s a lot more to fog than being blinded isn’t there?” I asked the Father.

“Indeed. Took you awhile to notice.”

“I guess was only looking at the surface.”

I felt a warm breath that pushed away the chill of the morning air. “There’s so much more to see when you look deeper – squint a bit. Fog is really not just something to inconvenience you when you drive.”

I smiled. “I get that now. It’s a cover. A quilt of sorts.”

“Good for you. What else did you see?”

“I saw the movement in the mist. It carried your forgiveness toward me and it washed my fallacies out of sight. It clung to me, touched me physically, tickled my skin.”

“So you saw for the first time?” The Father asked.

“I guess I did. I could see the thick film before my eyes, yet, my vision was perfectly clear.”

“Good. You understand my love a bit better. If only more people would stand still long enough to look into the fog.”

This morning God taught me that winter on the mountain offers sight to the blind. He covers us with His mighty love and forgives completely. I saw that, deep within the smoky fog of the Appalachians.