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.