I went to edit beside a swamp yesterday. And then I found a
bridge, a lovely little thing of weathered planks. The water that crossed under
it was so still it made the Georgian clouds reflect out of it with such brilliancy, for a moment I doubted whether I was looking up or down. The greens are so intense
here it makes this New Mexican blink and wonder if I have stumbled into Narnia
when it was first created; it feels as if I could drop a piece of metal and a lamppost
would grow. Everything grows!
But while I wandered this morning, as that sun began its
climb, I ran across something that gave me a different sense of wonder at that beauty
of this creation. There was an unplowed field fringed by pine trees (absolutely
towering pine trees, of a very vibrant green) and the sun was making them look
a sort of hazy gold this morning as he rose behind them. It was beautiful so I
stepped in to see it better. And nearly crushed a flower beneath my boot before
I even saw it there. But once I spotted the yellow and purple blooms scattered
around the small patch of sand at the top of the field, I noticed little else. They
were delicate and almost shining in the early morning sunlight, but their
simple beauty wasn’t what really gripped my attention.
Every blossom in that field was turned towards the sun. The
stalks were bent seeking it, the flower’s heads turned and tipped, all admiring
the yellow orb that brings us light and heat, eager to gather the food they
needed for the day. It was as if every fiber of the plant was waiting on the sun,
focused on it completely, drawing all their joy, and health, and the strength to do
their duty from that single bright thing.
Have I ever turned to the Son that completely? That eagerly?
The whole of me focused on Jesus as those flowers were so joyfully turned
towards their sun? They drew their beauty from it. The petals shone in the
bright light, perked high, drinking in the sun, and without knowing it emitting
their own little bit of joyous sunshine straight into my soul. Our Son is ready
to give us the same sort of reflection. We draw all our health, our joy, our strength,
our spiritual food… all of it comes from Jesus Christ the Son. And if we are
turned to Him, utilizing the power He offers through His light, the reflection
comes off of us. Joy shines off a devoted Christian with all the brightness of the
Son it comes from.
I weeded a garden today. Did I mention everything here
grows? That includes the weeds, of course. The crabgrass was surrounding the
pepper plants, overshadowing them, keeping them from gaining the strength they
needed. Oh the pepper plants were still there. They were still pepper plants,
they didn’t get plucked up with the weeds and thrown into the rubbish. But they
were meager things of a sort of sickly yellowish green, and there was no fruit,
or even a promise of anything coming from them.
There are the shining saints, turned towards the Son; and
then there are the choked, overshadowed pepper plants. Both are Christians,
both will be in heaven, both are loved by our Lord. But which one shows His
beauty? Which one makes fruit? Which one creates more plants to praise our
Lord?
I want to be a shining flower. I want to turn towards the
Son. And follow that Son as it moves through my life, like the sun moves through
the sky, and during the dark nights I want to be waiting for that Strength
Bringer to reappear. I want to weed my garden and drink in the sunlight and
gain the strength to shine and produce fruit.
Everything grows here. I think I am too.
No comments:
Post a Comment