Devotional Archives--Little Things

June 13, 2005 —

The Scent of Grace

It’s been a busy three days—two of our boys played in a hockey tournament and our daughter competed in a gymnastics meet. Though the events happened close together, they were in three different locations—none of which were on our side of town.

Tonight we came home hungry and tired. After eating out between events, I didn’t feel I could pull the “let’s just get a pizza” card.

I dug through the fridge, coming up with a big bowl of pasta and some veggies. Since I don’t have much storage in my kitchen, I have a pantry of sorts in our garage. I put the noodles in to heat and rushed out the back door and down our steps in hopes I had a jar of spaghetti sauce in the cabinet outside.

As I came down the stairs, I noticed a few blossoms on the rose bushes by the garage door. I wanted to enjoy them, but instead cringed when I saw weeds in their bed. I sighed and dashed toward the door.

Suddenly, I screeched to a stop. The fragrance of roses filled my senses. I paused only a second, but in that moment I felt God. The perfume of the flowers took me out of my hurry mode long enough for me to experience something beyond myself—something beautiful.

I wish I could say I slowed down enough to really think about that—or to least breathe a prayer of Thanksgiving, or a whisper of praise to the God who made roses not only beautiful, but fragrant, as well. But I didn’t. My mind soon returned to conquering my responsibilities and I dashed into the garage, grabbed the sauce, and flew back up the stairs.

Real life consumed me again. Feed the kids, clear the table, assign chores, sort the laundry, get that devotional written . . .

The devotion. I plopped in front of the computer, too depleted to write.  My mind went back to the rose bush.

Too often, I treat God’s grace like I treated that rose tonight. I catch a whiff of its beauty, and rush on, noticing all the little weeds of my life instead of reveling in the wonder of amazing grace. I don’t take time to let God’s grace fill me up.

In the middle of writing this devotional, I left the computer, longing for that rose bush. A light rain had fallen and the air smelled damp instead of perfumed as I tramped down the back steps.

I went to the blossom, stuck my nose right in the middle of that flower, and inhaled deeply. The fragrance was heavenly. I spent a couple of minutes pulling the unsightly weeds, pausing every little bit to sniff the rose.

You see where this is going.

We need to pause long enough to let the wonder and beauty of Christ soak into our souls. We need to inhale deeply of the fragrance of His character, then the busyness, the irritations—the weeds—of life are more manageable. We aren’t so quickly depleted because we’re tanking up on Him.

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June 20, 2005 —

Blooming

I’ve never tried to grow Gerber Daisies, but this year their bright, unusual colors called to me from the shelf at Wal-mart. The instructions said they do better in cooler temperatures so surviving the hot, dry Colorado summer would be a long shot. I purchased the vibrant flowers, thinking if they only lived for half the summer, it would be worth it.

I planted the Gerber Daisies in the flowerbed in front of my house, strategically placing them to receive a lot of shade. I purposed to water them more often than the other flowers would typically be watered.

The daisies have survived so far. I suspect their success is related to an unusually cool, wet season. But, it has been surprising how often they need water, even with all the rain we’ve had. They’ve been teaching me a lot.

Those daisies need a lot of attention. They can’t survive for several days on a good rain like the flowers around them can. If they are not watered consistently, they droop and the blooms fade.

On the other hand, when they get a decent drink every day, they are gorgeous. Now they are even reproducing. The last few days, new stems and tiny blossoms have pushed through the soil.

Those tender plants are a lot like me. I need a lot of attention from my Spiritual Gardner. He sometimes calls me out of the heat to rest a while in the shade. And He is always there with the watering can. But, too often I try to make it too far on a spiritual deluge, instead of drinking consistently of Him.

I become distracted, often by good things, and don’t focus on the Best—knowing Him. Then, my limp blooms lie on the ground instead of standing tall.  My dryness is magnified by the guilt of missing time alone with God.

Dwight Edwards, in his wonderful book, Revolution Within, writes that even our heart to know God is a gift from Him. He says, “When I feel dry and lifeless toward God, I remind myself of this reality. It isn’t my responsibility to create a desire for knowing Him, but to fall back on the supernaturally implanted desire for knowing Him that was given me at conversion.”

It is comforting to know that the Gardener places within us a desire for Himself. Those times we feel wilted don’t mean we love God any less or that He is ignoring us. They are just reminders to pursue our first love, Jesus Christ—to let the competing desires fade into the background of wanting to know Him.

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June 27, 2005 —

The Night Wind

The night wind rose and fell in swells. I closed my eyes and listened for the whoosh of its movement, conscious of the breeze that brushed my face and caused stray tendrils of hair to tickle my cheeks.

Though it was June, the evening was cool and I snuggled deeper into the comforter I had tossed across the hammock. Opening my eyes, I stared at the tree limbs above me. The black-green leaves seemed to sway to an ancient waltz, the dance grounded in wind beats.

I let the night current carry me to Him. That’s why I had come.

We talked a little. I told Him how I struggled with conflicting attitudes. On one hand I felt grateful for His many blessings. On the other, I was miffed He allowed hard situations to continue. Ashamed, I admitted my anger, wishing I could simply trust and live in gratitude.

I knew He heard.

Eventually the bigness of the night calmed my complaints. The hammock swung gently. I can almost believe His massive hand reached down from heaven and rocked me as I cuddled there like the little child I am. Soothed, I whispered songs of faith and praise. I think He must have smiled then, nodding His head as He received my love.

I lay in the hammock for close to an hour. By the time I went inside, my husband had tucked the younger children into their beds and our home was quiet. Soon, I slipped into a peaceful sleep. When I awoke the next morning, the circumstances of my life hadn’t changed, but my attitude had.

Too often I ignore the junk inside of me. I rush through my responsibilities pretending the ugliness isn’t there. But it always comes out. I say something unkind, feel tense, or am short with my family. Negative thoughts buffet me as long as I ignore the litter of life.

But something sweet happens when I take time off from the world to be with Him—especially in His creation.

When’s the last time you tried it?

Why wait? Go outside. Tell the Lord how you’re feeling—good and bad together. Reaffirm your love for Him despite negatives in your life. Then, just rest in Him. Drink in the silence. Breathe the scent of the air. Gaze at His creation.

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July 4, 2005 —

Rainbow Messages

My nine-year old burst through the front door. “Did you see? There’re two rainbows outside.” The family rushed to the window. I trailed behind, caught up in my glum mood.

“Hurry, Mom!” My seven-year old pleaded. “You gotta see this!”

I caught my breath as I joined them at the window. The perfect rainbow arched right in front of our home. Its colors were so rich, it looked surreal, like something from a children’s Bible storybook instead of honest to goodness reality.

A tug in my heart told me to hope. Told me God gave me the rainbow to remind me of His promises.

Like the grumpy woman I was that day, I rejected the happy thought, reasoning with the left side of my brain that science has shown us how and why rainbows were made and that the rainbow was, at that very moment, delighting more than my little household.

It wasn’t a promise to me that everything would be okay. Instead of reveling in the wonder of its timing, beauty, placement and perfection, I recited the colors of ROY G. BIV.

Now, even people who’ve never read the Genesis account of Noah know the rainbow is a symbol of hope and promise. Whether or not God painted that rainbow just for me is something easily argued either way. And it isn’t the point. The point is the Holy Spirit wanted to whisper hope into my heart as I gazed upon its wonder.

I could have let its magnificence lift my heart in praise to God. I could have allowed it to remind me of the promise of His love and care that Scripture tells me is always there.

But, that afternoon I didn’t want to feel hopeful. It would mean choosing faith over whining, and, quite frankly, I felt like complaining. I shut my heart and turned from the glorious rainbow.

Oh, outwardly I tried not to dampen the enthusiasm of my children. I said the right things. Smiled an outside smile. Then, willfully closed my heart to the gentle reminder of the Holy Spirit that God’s promises were worth holding onto.

What a waste of an incredible moment. I could have rushed down my stairs, flung open the front door (and my heart) and ran onto the lawn, my arms spread wide, embracing the promises of the Creator. I could have twirled in the street underneath the brilliant arch and laughed in joyful acceptance of His encouragement.

The Lord must have grinned a little at my stubbornness as He shook His head. Or, maybe He sighed, wondering how I could treat His gift with such casual dismissal. I’m not sure how He felt, but I know He is not petty as I am.

He didn’t hold it against me and He was big enough to handle my mood. He simply waited for another opportunity to minister to my heart, meeting me later in the night wind. (See last week’s devotion.)

I wonder how many other opportunities I missed that day I spent snarling at Him instead of receiving His care.

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July 11, 2005 —

Meadows

Sometimes God’s love is painted all around and not even noticed. After a month of writing about how the little things can lift our heart to the Lord, you’d think I’d be good at noticing them. But, it happened again this week.

I got tunnelitis—better known as tunnel vision. I’d spent a month rushing from event to event, hosting company, and barely stopping long enough to sleep. It culminated in a two-night trip to Cub Scout Camp with my younger boys.

I’ll admit it. I noticed the fact that the concrete floor of our assigned tent needed a broom. And dust was everywhere, coating our shoes, kicked into the air as we followed our color group from trail to trail. The food? I should be thankful I didn’t have to cook it myself, but . . .

Getting to camp had been an ordeal. The trip should have taken less than 2 hours, and that’s what was planned—but, thanks to a stalled semi, construction, and extra stops—it took almost 4. Let’s just say I was working very hard to embrace the whole scouting experience.

Despite my attitude, God did it again.

My boys and I started toward the campfire activities about dusk. I lifted my eyes from the dirt at my feet and discovered a whole new world. We rounded a small lake whose shoreline was clothed in cattails. Ducks and their babies swam and chatted with each other. Beautiful black birds, with orange feathers near their wings lit on tall stalks, swaying in the breeze.

The sky behind the lake, brushed with a coral hue, faded into billowing clouds. Wildflowers dotted the grassy meadow. Indian Paintbrush matched the sky, while yellow Black Eyed Susans brightened the green and brown grasses. Lavender petals formed little bells that climbed stems and magenta blossoms grew close to the ground.

To my right, the meadow spread for miles. To my left, rocky hills dotted the landscape behind the lake.

He was there. Everywhere. Weariness slipped into the background and I thanked Him for the beauty overwhelming my senses. When my boys asked if I was having fun I could honestly say, “I’m especially enjoying this walk. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Lightening forced an early end to our campfire experience and my boys and I decided to go to bed. We crawled onto our three cots, crowded together in our two-man tent, and took turns making up stories.

As we weaved our tales I reached for their hands, holding one of each of theirs in my own. Then we took turns praying, their sweet little voices thanking God that Mommy took them to camp. As they dozed off I realized my heart was full.

God had met me in the meadow and whispered His love through the sweetness of my children.

Is there a meadow in your life that you haven’t noticed?

Father, please refresh each reader. Paint their skies with brilliant colors. Dot their landscapes with flowers. Open their eyes to the gifts you’ve placed all around them.

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