One day on my walk I heard squealing. I was nearing the lake, alone in the quiet park and heard something, somewhere in distress. A lost gosling? An injured bunny? My curiosity was piquing and soon I was pushing aside leggy sticker bushes and bending under dewy spider webs, stopping every few moments to listen for what began to sound more like a deep, panicked wail.
Down near the water, under a bush, I saw the long, black, curving tail of a snake and, at the other end, the croaking victim. The snake had secured one leg and the belly of the frog in its mouth, rendering it helpless. All the poor thing could manage was the occasional bellows, which ceased in my presence. Perhaps my arrival eased the frog’s despair, though I hadn’t intended on interfering. Taken by the gripping scene at my feet, however, I snooped and maneuvered branches for a clearer view which perturbed the snake. All at once, it abandoned its prey and slipped off into the lake. The frog, not pausing to thank me, was gone in an instant.
I scrambled back up to the paved path and returned to my tranquil stroll, considering hope. Even if frogs could hope, I doubt this one saw me coming. But on that day, in that minute I was and I was in the mood for meddling. I smile when I consider God’s ways, His seamless, perfect ways. There is always hope. God is always present.
For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently. Romans 8:24-25
Meeting God at the Park 