“But ask the animals, and they will teach you.” Job 12:7
I wasn’t expecting a theology lesson on a Monday morning. But there they were, two fox kits tumbling across the church lawn in the golden early light, their father trotting just ahead, steady and sure. I stood still and watched longer than I probably should have.
And I listened.
There is something about witnessing new life in the middle of an ordinary week that quietly rearranges you. Spring has a way of doing that, arriving uninvited into our routines and reminding us that the world is still being tended.
“Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them.” Matthew 6:26
Jesus said birds. But I think He meant fox kits too.
These little ones have no awareness of what lies ahead, the summer heat, the eventual scattering that comes with autumn, the wide world waiting beyond the den. They only know this morning. This grass. This father leading them forward. And somehow, that is enough.
Isn’t that what we are invited into? Not mastery of the future, but trust in the One who holds it.
I have been watching this family for a few weeks now. The mother, quieter and less visible, working faithfully behind the scenes. The father, steady in his provision, showing up day after day. The kits, growing stronger, venturing a little further each time, not because they have figured everything out, but because they are held.
“He will cover you with his feathers, and under his wings you will find refuge.” Psalm 91:4
That image of covering – of shelter that doesn’t remove us from the world but sustains us within it, is exactly what I watched play out on that church lawn. The kits are not hidden away forever. They are being prepared. Covered. Sent out in due season.
Seasons change. They always do. What looked like winter gives way to something new. And God, faithful as ever, is already out ahead of us, steady and sure, just like that father fox trotting across the morning grass.
A Moment to Reflect:
When did you last pause long enough to let creation speak to you? What did you notice?
Where in your life are you being asked to trust the One who is out ahead of you, even when you cannot see the full path?
Lord, thank You for the ordinary mornings that turn out to be anything but ordinary. Thank You for fox kits and golden light and the quiet ways You remind us that You are still tending this world and us. Where we are anxious about what lies ahead, cover us. Where we have forgotten to look up, open our eyes. You are faithful in every season. We trust You with this one too.
Amen.