HIDDEN HAVEN
The invitation came unexpectedly—a chance to photograph kit foxes on an island. I had no idea what awaited me beyond the boat ride and the promise of "adorable babies." But isn't that how the most transformative experiences often begin? With a simple yes to something unknown.
"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways submit to Him, and He will make your paths straight." (Proverbs 3:5-6)
The den was masterfully hidden behind what appeared to be an impenetrable thicket of thorny hedges. Only the patient observer would notice the small openings, the well-worn paths, the subtle signs of life within. As I settled into position with my camera, I couldn't help but think of how God often places His most precious gifts behind barriers that keep the casual seeker at bay, yet yield easily to those willing to wait and watch.
"You will seek Me [God] and find Me when you seek Me with all your heart." (Jeremiah 29:13)
Then they appeared—one by one, tiny kit faces peering out with eyes full of wonder and zero awareness of danger. Their early days consisted of only the essentials: eating, sleeping, the comfort of mother's love, and endless play with siblings. Watching them, I was struck by their complete trust in their hidden world, with no concept of predators beyond their hedge, no anxiety about tomorrow's meal, no worry about whether their mother would return. As they were embracing the moments of today and I was reminded of God’s instruction written long ago...
"Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own." (Matthew 6:34)
Each kit had its own distinct personality. One bounced and pounced as if equipped with tiny springs. Another was convinced buried treasure lay beneath the surface, digging with determined persistence. A third played tug-of-war with tall grass, refusing to surrender. God doesn't create us from a single mold but celebrates the unique ways we each engage with His world.
"Each of you should use whatever gift you have received to serve others, as faithful stewards of God's grace in its various forms." (1 Peter 4:10)
Hour after hour, I watched their mother's tireless devotion. She would disappear for long stretches, returning with small rodents or garden snakes. But it was her homecoming ritual that moved me most—always counting heads, a gentle lick here, a nudge there, ensuring each precious charge was safe. Then she would stand sentinel while they nursed, eyes constantly scanning the horizon. How like our Heavenly Father, who never slumbers, whose eyes are always upon us even as He provides for our deepest needs.
"He[God] will not let your foot slip—He who watches over you will not slumber" (Psalm 121:3)
The fox community fascinated me. Yearlings and other adults would come and go, checking on the kits, joining their play. This wasn't casual childcare—this play served a purpose. Older foxes were teaching hunting skills, survival instincts, social dynamics. The entire community was invested in preparing these young ones for life beyond the den.
"As iron sharpens iron, so one person sharpens another." (Proverbs 27:17)
But then came an evening that shattered my idyllic observations.
The mother and kits were playing among wildflowers as the sun painted the sky in soft pastels. Their joy was infectious—tumbling, chasing, exploring with abandon. Then another fox appeared—a silvery-black fox carrying itself with an energy that made my skin crawl. There was a darkness in its approach, a menace I could feel even from my distant vantage point.
What happened next was no playful interaction but a vicious attack. The silvery-black fox turned on the mother with shocking aggression, and she fought back with desperate courage. The battle was brief but brutal, ending with the attacker slinking away and the mother whimpering, shrinking into the tall grass to tend her wounds.
All the while, the kits continued playing. Oblivious. Innocent. Protected by their very inability to comprehend what had just unfolded.
"Even my close friend, someone I trusted, one who shared my bread, has turned against me." (Psalm 41:9)
Sitting behind my camera, I felt that whimper echo in my own chest. How many times had I experienced that same shock—the sudden attack from someone I trusted, the betrayal that came without warning? In that moment, I identified completely with that brave mother fox, surprised by betrayal but still standing guard over what mattered most.
But here's what amazed me about foxes: they don't seem to hold grudges.
The next morning, I returned expecting tension, wariness, permanent rifts. Instead, I found the same peaceful interactions as before. The silvery-black fox was back, engaging normally with the group. It was as if the previous night's trauma had been absorbed and released, leaving no visible scar on the community's fabric.
This challenged everything in me. My human nature wanted justice, wanted the silvery-black fox shunned, wanted consequences that matched the betrayal. But watching these creatures choose restoration over resentment, I began to understand something profound about the freedom that comes with forgiveness.
Whatever the mother fox may have retained from that experience, she continued to allow the silvery-black fox to interact with her kits—a trust that spoke to something deeper than our human understanding of conflict resolution. She had found a way to remain open while staying wise, to forgive without becoming foolish
"Be kind and compassionate to one another, forgiving each other, just as in Christ God forgave you." (Ephesians 4:32)
In that moment, watching the mother fox embody this radical grace, I glimpsed God's own heart reflected in His creation. What we often struggle to live out as humans—this divine call to forgive as we have been forgiven—was being demonstrated naturally in the wild. Perhaps this is how God intended us to live all along, with hearts that can absorb betrayal without becoming bitter, that can choose restoration over retaliation.
Sitting in that wildflower field for hours each day, I realized I was witnessing more than animal behavior. I was seeing a masterclass in trust, provision, community, and grace. These fox families lived with a simplicity that we humans have complicated beyond recognition.
They trusted their hidden places of safety. They gathered what was needed each day without hoarding. They invested in their young with patient dedication. They built community while maintaining healthy boundaries. And when betrayal came—as it inevitably does—they found ways to heal without harboring bitterness.
"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." (Romans 8:28)
As my week on the island drew to a close, I found myself reluctant to leave these teachers. The kits had grown visibly, their play becoming more sophisticated, their personalities more defined. Soon they would venture beyond their hedge sanctuary, carrying with them everything their mother and community had invested in them—and the bone-deep knowledge that they were loved, protected, and equipped for whatever lay ahead.
"Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it." (Proverbs 22:6)
Perhaps you're reading this from your own hidden place—a season where God has tucked you away behind protective barriers while He provides for your needs and prepares you for what's next. Maybe you're wondering why provision requires such effort, why community relationships sometimes turn painful, why growth feels slow and safety seems temporary.
The fox kits remind us that our seasons of hiddenness are not delays—they're development. Our experiences of betrayal and forgiveness are not detours—they're essential curriculum. Our dependence on daily provision is not weakness—it's the very design that keeps us close to the heart of our Provider.
What hidden haven is God offering you today? What community is He using to shape you? What forgiveness might He be calling you to embrace—not for others' sake, but for your own freedom?
The foxes know something we often forget: we were made for trust, designed for community, equipped for resilience, and called to extend the same grace we've received. In the hidden havens of our lives, we can play with the abandon of those fox kits—not because dangers don't exist, but because we know we are held, protected, and perfectly prepared for whatever adventures await beyond the hedge.
"The Lord your God is with you, the Mighty Warrior who saves. He will take great delight in you; in His love He will no longer rebuke you, but will rejoice over you with singing." (Zephaniah 3:17)