The Blooming Blossom and the Pitiful Pepper

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. 

Peaceful Musings

The world is at peace this morning. I would say it's still, but it’s not really. The birds are busy, and I can hear cars buzzing around me off out of sight somewhere. But peacefulness pervades my tiny corner of the immense world. I don’t know how long it will last, just as I don’t know what scenes will be greeting me next; the adventure of road-tripping is only knowing a part of where you are going. A name on a map is just a name until you get there, and see the scenes that make the name what it is. 

I’m out adventuring with the family right now. Instead of the usual wild browns and dusty delights, and prickeldy green cactus, I’m looking at Pennsylvanian trees, grass that is so perfect it almost begs for a New Mexican to go frolic in it, and summer dandelions and bright pink bushes. My little sister brought me a perfectly formed dandelion in seeded ‘blowing state,’ which my little brother aptly termed ‘a wishing flower.’ I let it sit next to my tea and cookies for a bit before duly wishing and blowing the seeds into the wind to make more flowers. One tried to plant its way into my keyboard, and after all, why not? There are flowers growing in my writing right now as I type. It’s a bit overwhelmingly green and gorgeous, honestly. But the differentness simply brings another level of delight; I don’t see these types of sights every day, so I had better enjoy it while I can. And who knows where I’ll be going next, and what kind of flowers will find me at the next stop.

Instead of a corgi on my foot, I have a miniature dachshund on my lap as I type. And while it may not bring the same delight as knowing it's my dog sleeping there, a warm lap from a kind, living thing still evokes peace no matter what the next hour may shape itself into. (And when adventuring with my awesome adventuresome family, there is no telling what the next hour may bring.)

I’m in the backyard, and from where I sit I can see a cup of milk and leftover sandwiches from yesterdays picnic with eight little people, all eight and under, and it reminds me of the chaotic joy and happy noise of family and friends near; and lets the quiet of the moment sink in deeper. When I look straight ahead the yard sort of fades away into a tree-filled grassy stretch that draws my mind to all the millions of people who have walked this land since our country’s founding, the history of their stories unfolding day by day, and the wonder of a time that shapes itself around billions of individual lives, that are all caught up in God’s vast book He writes through the ages. And my instant of lazy peace on the back porch seems to take on a deeper shade of both delight and meaning as I know I’m a part of it.

My moment of peace is peaceful, but the world around me really isn’t. I hear the busy hum of people going about their business, I know behind me in the house my mom is busy getting the rest of the family ready for the day, and somewhere out in the town my aunt is grocery shopping since we’ve seriously depleted their milk stores already. The peace that floods me is an internal thing. It isn’t just the pretty birdsong and the overwhelmingly lovely green. It isn’t even the sense of the depth of history that saturates this state. My peace is deeper then the plants, deeper then the rich earth that feeds them, even deeper then the thrumming story that’s been acted out on this continent since it was created. My peace comes from the One who was there before the trees, the history, or the continent.

How can God look down on such a weak, lazy sinner as me, and save, and love, and even instill His own peace in my soul? I am humbled this morning as I sit watching the birds circle above, and feel the simple dog’s heart beating on my lap. The birds and dogs do what they were created to do. So often I don’t. But the Hound of Heaven always tracks me down, fights my battles, and sets me on the path again. He continually gives me a reason to keep living, and more, to keep striving for holiness. My purpose is set, my goal is firm, and my King is unswerving in His goodness. I have nothing to fret over. I have the world to fight for, but nothing to fret over.

There is a deep, deep peace that comes with knowing where you’re going.