I've been focused on me way too much lately. Oh, not in the selfish way of neglecting others needs! I continue to meet my responsibilities head on and pour out. My pouring looks more like the trickle coming from the end of my hose when it has a kink in it.
In my last post, I shared a bit of my wilderness journey through life. Years ago when I read the Bible, I did so with a kink of sorts. I always saw correction leaning towards condemnation; my missing the mark rather than the mark itself. Roots of this skewed perspective grew from generations of critical, hidden women in my family and were nurtured by a works oriented church, which meant well but fell short in grace.
We have had a rainy, cold spring here in northern Maine. The beautiful blossoms on my geraniums are long gone. Every time I look out my kitchen window, my eyes inevitably land on this struggling pot. Yet when I take the time to venture outside and around the corner of the house, gorgeous deep red dahlias delight me! I don't know how they are thriving in this weather.
As I read through my 1988 journal, I noticed something besides the struggle. Scripture verses filled the pages, alive with the voice of God and his grace. Although my circumstances and emotions demanded my attention then, God's grace had taken root and no matter the weather, his love saw the beauty in me I couldn't see. God's eternal eyes saw what I would become.
God is not an annual gardener. He is in it for the long haul.
In Isaiah 61, He calls me his "oak, the planting of the Lord, that he may be glorified."
I cannot see this glory today. Like Adam and Eve when they sinned, they saw their nakedness as the glory fell away.
But God covered them with skins from the first blood sacrifice.
He covered me too with his own blood and clothed me with his glory.
Every year my gardening skills progress and my perennials claim more space, creating reoccurring beauty. What I need are eyes to see the progress, not how far I've yet to go.