In the silence He came to me…

The picture emerges suddenly in my mind’s eye. I stop and stare curiously at the image. A single sheet of glass framed by wood.  I’m on the inside of the window looking out.  What is this?

A knowing says I’m viewing the window of my soul. As quickly as the answer comes, the mouth of a man on the other side of the glass appears.  His lips form an O and he begins to blow on the pane, the way kids do when they blow bubbles through rings dipped in soapy water. A small crystal clear circle, the size of a quarter, materializes in the center of the window.  Hmmm.  Am I looking at a peep hole?

The distinct see-through clarity of the small sphere reveals by contrast, an opaque film covering the pane of glass.  A powdery residue.  The blowing continues.  In a quick flash, the peep hole opens wide in all directions, erasing the filmy haze to the frame’s edge.  I hear the familiar voice of my Father, “I’m blowing away the dust of death.”  The unfamiliar words catch me by surprise.  But the picture triggers fond memories of my Dad when I was in grade school.

I started wearing glasses in the second grade. I guess I didn’t pay much attention to the grimy smudges building up on my lenses. Dad always noticed.  Every now and then he stopped what He was doing, stooped down to smile in my face, and asked me to hand him my glasses.  Pulling a white hankie from his pocket, he blew his warm breath on the lenses, and cleared away the smears blocking my vision.

“There you go.  That’s better.”  He smiled, as his big hands gently tucked the temples behind my ears, and balanced the frames back on my nose.  He wanted to help me see the world more clearly.

It’s just something a loving Dad likes to do.

What is this picture saying to me?

A window is an opening for the entrance of light and air,  a means of accessing information, or an interval of time during which certain opportunities exist.

I sense immediacy in His words, “I’m blowing away the dust of death.”  This now moment is pregnant with life.

Dust. A metaphor of death, the grave, sorrow and mourning.

Five deaths in five years for my strong man and me.  Our teenage son. Our mothers.  Two uncles. That’s a lot of ashes in a seemingly brief window.  Five critical deaths frame the pane of my soul.

The arduous road through the Valley of Shadows traverses harsh terrain fraught with wild dust storms. The trek demands more grit and grace than I ever imagined.  But the key word here is through.  Death valley begins and ends.  You do get through.

Yes, I’ve emerged into wide open spaces, but my Father tells me traces of dust linger. A shadowy filter remains, effecting my perspective. . . of everything.

So what does He do? He breathes away the dust.

Neshamah, is the Hebrew word for God’s breath. When God formed man from the dust of the earth, he breathed into his nostrils the breath of life.  Man became a living being. God actually shared His own breath with man, and taught him how to breath.

Pneuma, the Greek word for breath, is a symbol of the wind and spirit.  Remember the words of Jesus? The wind blows wherever it pleases. You hear its sound, but you cannot tell where it comes from or where it is going. So it is with everyone born of the Spirit.*

Breath. Life. Spirit. Freely shared with you and me.  An unconditional gift from the Source of all living things.

This Author of Life came to earth to do the one thing He could not do in heaven.  Die.

Shortly before defeating death and the grave, He breathed on those who were with Him and said, receive the Spirit.*   Am I open to accept His gift?

The Spirit breaths on my soul pane.  Grief grime lifts.  Sorrow smudges fade. The dusty film that distorted my perspective for five long years disappears.  Light spills through, enhancing acuity. Colors brighten. It suddenly seems easier to perceive Life in the world around me, which is needy, but also in the world within me, which is needier still.

Excitement builds over the mysterious ways of the Spirit, and the world beyond. The home being prepared for us beyond death’s door. The place of extravagant joy, free of pain and suffering.  The realm where perfect love permeates all things, and radiant light casts no shadow.  The kingdom of increasingly grand adventure, where lost opportunities on earth are marvelously redeemed.

In my experience, dust collecting is typically slow and subtle. It accumulates a little at a time as we pass through loss upon loss. Without even knowing it, vision dims, and perception grows skewed and jaded.

But the Father of mercies understands our frailties.  He never intended for us to muscle through this world on our own.  He knows best how to banish lingering shadows.  That’s why every now and then He’ll pause, look in your eyes, smile wide, and blow away the dust.

“There you go.  That’s better.”

It’s just something a loving Dad likes to do.

*John 3:8, John 20:22