Inspired by . . . a prick on the finger
I walked along the lane to the cottage listening to the mutterings of the wind in the Johnson grass, as it said it’s farewells to the sun, just before settling down into a bed of leaves for the night. A few of it’s offspring resisted, instead, bending the necks of the Cottontop and teasing the puffed, seeded ends away to join with them in a fair dance along the lane.
Into my fanciful thoughts came a faint pricking just above my knee. Reaching down to investigate, I pulled back sharply, my finger bruised and throbbing as if it had encountered a blazing hot poker! I looked down in astonishment, only to find a single sandbur stuck in the hem of my capris.
For those of you who have had experience with the Texas grassbur or sandbur, you know that I am not exaggerating in the least with my “hot poker” statement. It almost makes you wonder if Maleficent isn’t behind such a ghastly prick on the finger. As it turns out, she does have something to do with it, at least, in a way.
And to Adam He said, "Because you have listened to the voice of your wife
and have eaten of the tree of which I commanded you,
'You shall not eat of it,' cursed is the ground because of you;
in pain you shall eat of it all the days of your life;
thorns and thistles it shall bring forth for you;
and you shall eat the plants of the field.
Thorns, thistles, and sandburrs are not what God wants for us. But they exist . . . for a time. They serve as a stark reminder of the fallen world we live in. Not that we really need sandburs to remind us. Turning on our TV or signing in to our social media of choice is really all that is needed these days.
I don’t know about you, but at times I am overwhelmed by the depravity of our world. The images become like shouts from the crowd. In my mind, voices clamor, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
And we do.
Daily, we prove the necessity of the cross, our great need for His great sacrifice.
More and more often I’m finding it necessary to draw away. To move beyond the clamor of the unfolding immorality.
To move beyond the cross . . .
. . . on to the hope of His resurrection.
To submerse myself in the shimmery shadow of heaven. Because this world, even as God intended it to be, is still only a glimpse of what is to come.
But as it is written, Eye hath not seen, nor ear heard,
neither have entered into the heart of man,
the things which God hath prepared for them that love Him. 1Co 2:9
For now we see through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face: now I know in part;
but then shall I know even as also I am known. 1Co 13:12
You won’t be surprised that, for me, that place is in nature. It is where I feel closest to God. Where He reveals Himself and the infinite nuances of His character to me. Perhaps your place is in a church. Or sitting in a particular place with His word. Or in a crowded room, or on a city street where only His voice is heard. The place doesn’t matter.
What matters is that we continue to turn away from the raging voices of this world and look to Him.
This world is not our home. It’s okay to feel different, to feel unwelcome here at times.
The earth and everything created is our inheritance. God made it for us, because He loves us. One day we will receive it in full.
And to hope:
The King may be absent, but He not unaware or uncaring. This is not a time for sleeping. As His subjects we are to work diligently until His return. And He will return. And when He does, every wrong will be made right. Justice will be served, and peace will reign.
For you yourselves are fully aware that the day of the Lord will come like a thief in the night.
While people are saying, "There is peace and security," then sudden destruction will come upon them
as labor pains come upon a pregnant woman, and they will not escape.
But you are not in darkness, brothers, for that day to surprise you like a thief.
For you are all children of light, children of the day.
We are not of the night or of the darkness.
So then let us not sleep, as others do, but let us keep awake and be sober.
He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more,
neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away."
This is our hope.
He is our hope.
As sharp, and as sure as the sandburr.
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