To the dogs and birds, the squirrels, the butterflies and earthworms;
to the people who can no longer sit indoors;
to the rays of the sun that have finally reached through the clouds --
together, we shall shout a resounding 'amen!'
to the people who can no longer sit indoors;
to the rays of the sun that have finally reached through the clouds --
together, we shall shout a resounding 'amen!'
So maybe that is a bit melodramatic. But in all seriousness, the new appearance of a spring that might just be around to stay is just what the doctor ordered to fight my winter-time melancholy.
And it strikes me profoundly in its hindsight relationship to something a dear friend said last week. In a conversation about the continued need for spiritual growth, both personally and in our relationships, she commented, "...you know, it just has to be there. It doesn't have to be loud or frantic..."
This spring has approached not abruptly, but quietly, calmly, hesitantly even. The air has been growing warmer, not necessarily obviously, but steadily. Spring did not pounce frantically on our city, but teased its way into our lives.
How often I expect the loud, frenetic pace of life, though! I am seldom content to sit, watch, and absorb the slow progress of the changing of seasons or the work of God in my life and those that surround me. I want it to slap me upside the face, so I am sure not to miss it. I am not good with time as determined by others.
But perhaps all of these things are more glorious in the quiet, steady, slow realization. The Hebrews writer begins his all-stars list of the great faithful with the statement that "faith is being sure of things hoped for, and certain of things not seen." It is not precedented with "These people are pillars of faith because they went after what they saw and wanted, took no time for patience, and wouldn't take no for an answer." Nothing says quiet and steady like "hoped for" and "not seen."
John's gospel, as well, alludes to a need for continued rest and times of waiting: "Abide in me, and I in you. ... Abide in my love." Abiding, in my limited understanding, is a state of being; it is not inactivity, but it demands a grounding in peace, I think.
So today I welcome the need for things to not be "loud or frantic"; I rejoice in the calm awakening of spring. I simply lift my eyes to the glorious sun, through which the Son is blessing the earth, though it be quiet, steady, and slow.
And it strikes me profoundly in its hindsight relationship to something a dear friend said last week. In a conversation about the continued need for spiritual growth, both personally and in our relationships, she commented, "...you know, it just has to be there. It doesn't have to be loud or frantic..."
This spring has approached not abruptly, but quietly, calmly, hesitantly even. The air has been growing warmer, not necessarily obviously, but steadily. Spring did not pounce frantically on our city, but teased its way into our lives.
How often I expect the loud, frenetic pace of life, though! I am seldom content to sit, watch, and absorb the slow progress of the changing of seasons or the work of God in my life and those that surround me. I want it to slap me upside the face, so I am sure not to miss it. I am not good with time as determined by others.
But perhaps all of these things are more glorious in the quiet, steady, slow realization. The Hebrews writer begins his all-stars list of the great faithful with the statement that "faith is being sure of things hoped for, and certain of things not seen." It is not precedented with "These people are pillars of faith because they went after what they saw and wanted, took no time for patience, and wouldn't take no for an answer." Nothing says quiet and steady like "hoped for" and "not seen."
John's gospel, as well, alludes to a need for continued rest and times of waiting: "Abide in me, and I in you. ... Abide in my love." Abiding, in my limited understanding, is a state of being; it is not inactivity, but it demands a grounding in peace, I think.
So today I welcome the need for things to not be "loud or frantic"; I rejoice in the calm awakening of spring. I simply lift my eyes to the glorious sun, through which the Son is blessing the earth, though it be quiet, steady, and slow.
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