Every good gift

As it does every year, the United Methodist Church’s annual conference brings a sense of fresh beginning. There are appointments affirmed, ordination celebrated, calendars set, and the work of the church tended with care. Beneath all of it is a deeper current – the steady stirring of faith, renewed again for the season ahead. But for me, the week has become something more personal.
My daughter clears her schedule, gathers the children, and makes her way to stay with me during the conference. The kids are now young adults with a thirst for vending machines, swimming pools, and sunshine. What began as a simple trip has become the unofficial kick-off to summer much like Christmas is to winter.
The “kick-off” this year brought an unforeseen joy. My grandson, who is sixteen going on five, has maintained that wide-eyed wonder of looking at the world through the lens of innocence. Autism can hold onto that kind of wonder in a way that is both beautiful and challenging. He does not simply pass through moments—he fixes his heart on them. This year, that focus was clear: zebras.
My daughter had arranged a visit to a local safari, and I managed to steal away an afternoon to join them. It was a simple outing on the calendar, but for him, it was everything. Following our guide through the pastures, we passed ostriches, gazelles, and long-horned Watusi that seemed far more interested in us than we were in them. Malakai showed little interest until the final bend in the path—when the zebras came running. A herd moved across the pasture with an ease that seemed almost choreographed. Several newborn babies were keeping pace beside their mothers.
In that moment, everything else faded. His attention locked in, his excitement rising with every step they took closer. There was no need to encourage him to look or point it out—he had already found what he came for. We all watched as the zebras crossed in front of us, but for Malakai, it was as if the rest of the world had stepped aside to make room for that one joy.
Completing our tour we stopped to feed the camels—Bobby and Brownie, names far less majestic than the creatures themselves. They leaned in with surprising gentleness, more like overgrown dogs, patiently waiting for each small handful offered their way. As I watched them, it struck me how often joy comes in simple, unplanned moments. We arrive with calendars and expectations, but grace has a way of showing up in fields and feeding troughs, in laughter and in wonder.
Scripture reminds us that these are not accidents of life, but reminders of the One who gives good gifts. We often look for God in the weighty and the formal, but He is also present in the simple and unexpected—where joy runs across a field, where laughter rises in a pool, where a child’s heart is captured by zebras. Perhaps the question for us is not whether God still gives good gifts, but whether we still recognize them when they come. What good gift has the Father placed in your life that you may have overlooked, and may you learn to see it again.
Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! (Matthew 7:9-11)

Cheryl Mixon-Cruce is Pastor of Ochlockonee Bay United Methodist Church and Sopchoppy United Methodist Church.