From this cozy spot I can either look through the window to the backyard trees, or glance at the glass pantry door and see a reflection of those same trees and flowering shrubs moving in the breeze.
Often this reflection in glass strikes me as a doorway to a magical place, giving me the same sort of feeling a favorite book does—like Heidi inviting me up to the Swiss Alps, or joining the children in The Secret Garden.
Like all authors, there’s a strong streak of imagination to my inner person…
On the outside, no one could be more prosaic, using good old common sense. But this dream-like aspect also colors my soul in my relationship with the Lord.
This is not to say my faith is airy-fairy. Christ’s atoning death on the cross couldn’t be more logical.
My acceptance of what Christ did for me is as real as the cottonwood tree in my backyard. But the fact that the Son of God set aside His glory to come to dusty old earth to make that sacrifice, sky rockets that event into the supernatural, the unexplainable—something only an omnipotent God could come up with.
When I sit on the corner of my couch with my cup of tea and my Bible, my eye leaves the reality of my backyard and strays more often to the reflection in the glass. Sunlight dances on leaves. Clematis and roses throw out dashes of color. A familiar place . . . but not quite. My inner walking with God draws me to think far and above, to the . . . enchanting.
Christine Lindsay is the author of multi-award-winning novels and is Vice President of Christian Authors’ Network.