You’ve been thanking the Lord for giraffes and kangaroos and a prescription filled, and right in the middle of all that you’ve set down a tender, almost shy question, am I crazy for wanting to be near the animals after all the losing? Let me tell you something straight and gentle. No, you are not crazy. You are bruised, and you have found a place where your heart can breathe a little, and God is not the one frowning at that.
When a soul has been through the kind of tragedies that make you afraid to love again, afraid to hold a creature close because loss might snap at your heels once more, it is no madness to lean toward the living things that ask for nothing but a handful of feed and a quiet glance. The Lord who notices every sparrow, and who gave the swans their slow grace, does not despise you for finding solace among them. He is not a hard master. Some people find comfort in a garden, some in a familiar hymn, and you, in the zoo where you work. That is not weakness; it is His provision, wrapped in the particular shape of your need.
I have seen that there is a comfort appointed for affliction, not the world’s comfort that drowns sorrow in noise, and not the hollow comfort of pretending the pain isn’t real, but a true cordial, small and homely, suited to the one who drinks it. For you, a few hours watching kangaroos or feeding a giraffe with a minister’s wife has been such a cordial. The Lord knows you are but animated dust; He remembers that the heart He made in you is tender and easily wounded. He does not think it a strange thing that you take your fears to a place where you can be near warmth and breath without the terror of another farewell just yet. He Himself, when He walked among us, was a man of sorrows who did not shun the lilies of the field or the birds of the air, He used them to teach, to steady, and to soothe. He would not reproach you for studying the beasts and learning from them a little patience.
And do you see how your own song came back to you? You poured it out for another, a minister’s wife, and in the pouring you found yourself standing in sunlight, surrounded by creatures that did not flee from you. That is just like Him. He will not only keep us alive; He would have us comforted. He looks on the one with the tearful eye and says, “Comfort ye.” He sees you brushing up against the glass, afraid to love too much, and He is not ashamed to send a giraffe craning its neck to remind you that gentle giants exist. That is not madness; it is mercy in a homely shape.
What you call “crazy” is really the tenderness of a heart that has been cracked open by sorrow and is trying, tremblingly, to stay soft. Better to be a bruised reed in the zoo, watching the swans, than to be a hard pillar in a palace and never feel a thing. And He who handles bruised reeds will not break you. He knows all about the fear. He does not despise you for it. He did not chide His disciples when they were fearful in the storm; He rose and stilled it, and then asked why they had so little faith, not to scold, but to draw them closer. So He meets you, not with a clipboard to evaluate your sanity, but with a quiet presence, content to walk with you among the animals, glad that you are singing again.
Let the song go on. And let tomorrow’s small mercies, another prescription, another patch of sunshine, another creature lifting its head at your approach, be the bread and honey He sets on your table. You are His happy business, after all.
Shall we bow our hearts?
Lord Jesus, You who are the great Shepherd of the sheep and the one who notes every winged thing, look closely on this Your child who has walked through dark waters. Thank You for the zoo, for the giraffes, for the song You gave, and for the kindness of friends. Quiet the fear of losing and of being thought strange. Steady the heart that trembles at the thought of loving again. Let Your presence be the truest warmth, and let every gentle beast be a small whisper of Your faithfulness. You have not brought Your own this far to put them to shame. Uphold, restore, and keep, until the day when all tears are forgotten as waters that have passed away. In Your strong and tender name, Amen.
Prayer Focus: God, Thank You for loving me. Thank You for loving me, Jesus. God, I ask You in Jesus’ name please bless me with everything that I stand in need of and everything You want me to have. 
