by Debra A. Celovsky

He had asked to sit by me during dinner, the auntie from America, and had nibbled on his barbecued chicken with a great deal of squirming, as 4 year olds do. My husband and I were visiting family in the suburbs of Melbourne, Australia and almost every day brought a dinner invitation from some member of Sam’s large Slovak clan. This evening we were with his niece, Ana, her husband, Zdenko, and their young children, Jesse and Johanna.

The evening proved pleasantly warm and we went into the backyard to see "Duckie," a rather large white fowl enclosed in a mesh fence with a small, greenish pond and bit of grass to waddle around in. Jesse hopped and skipped around the edges of our conversation, seemingly lost in his little world of pretend horses (a new obsession) and scattered toys. We sat down to our early summer meal, so odd in January, of chicken, sausages, salad, and large goblets of cold water with lemon slices. Jesse slipped out of the room sometime later as we laughed and talked and finished eating.

Suddenly he reappeared, his beautiful gray eyes serious, and thrust a purple piece of construction paper at me with a rush of words. I tried to decode the Aussie twist and his slight lisp. "What, sweetie?" I asked. "It’s a bird and I love you," he said louder, with more emphasis. I looked at the paper. Yes, two large eyes were recognizable and a very large beak. It’s a bird and I love you. I had not been thinking specifically of him during the afternoon, but he had been thinking of me. And he told me two things: I have a gift for you, and a message.

That moment with a small boy reminded me of how often a Divine visit has been nearly missed with the Divine voice saying much the same thing. "It’s the Milky Way and I love you." "It’s sunrise over a new day and I love you." Or down those dim, dark corridors, as an echo or a whisper: "It’s a terrible loss and I love you." "Your heart is breaking and I love you." It is the same quiet voice of the great God Who spoke to His despondent prophet, Elijah, the great God whose focus never wavers from His loved ones. (I Kings 19:12) The assurance of that voice remains undiminished, regardless of misshapen circumstances, the ebb and flow of pleasure and pain.

And it is not just the reassurance of His voice, but the absolute certainty of His presence. Our feelings, those transient things that occupy so much of our emotional energy, too often interfere with our attention. Our focus may be elsewhere when the hand of God offers the equivalent of a strange little sketch on a piece of construction paper. Worry may cause us to glance at it but not comprehend. Trouble may provoke us to turn away altogether.

Yet He persists. In Psalm 40:17, David makes the marvelous observation that "the Lord thinks upon me." We are, in other words, always on His mind. And He is never far, never inattentive. He is thinking about us and offering assurance of His love at times in unexpected – and delightful – ways.

Jesse’s bird hangs framed near my desk. Its huge eyes and funny beak remind me that when the Word says God’s eyes are on the righteous, we may believe it unconditionally. (Ps. 34:15) The sweet message from that small boy reminds me that when God says that nothing would separate us from His love, He meant that, too. (Romans 8:38-39) And our hearts, firmly in the gaze of our God, are blessed and comforted and reassured.

 ©Debra A. Celovsky