Wednesday, March 22, 2017

The house I grew up in had a huge picture window in the front room. It was a Cape Cod, built in the 50s; why wouldn't you have a picture window in the 50s? Life was great! Communism was defeated, there were great big cars in the driveway, and everyone played in the street. So naturally, Mom would need a big, shiny glass picture window to dress in tie-back sheers. One that would frame the picture of her man coming home at the end of the day. 

I used to love to look out of that window at the plum tree, the front gate, our dogs. But didn't take me long to know that there wouldn't always be a dad pulling into the driveway and coming up the walk. And, when he did, it wasn't all that great. 

So I learned not to look too far past the glass. 

Even though I loved to play outside, I never minded rainy days. Living near the coast, rain drenched our windows. Strong gusts of wind blew in quickly.  When I could see the underside of the silver maple trees, I knew a storm was on its way. Our soft, circular sofa was just the right height for me.  On my knees, face close to the window, I watched as the storm moved in. Once the rain began slapping against the glass, I would find a droplet and trace it all the way to the bottom. It may seem like that would be boring- it was anything but! 

Sometimes the drops would start off strong, only to dissolve completely before they ever got close to the bottom. Others would begin their trip down the glass alone and then join forces with another drop, and maybe another, until they were consuming the water on the glass and flooding themselves toward the end. But some droplets- looking no different from any others, would travel slowly down the pane, dodging, stopping, and navigating until they reached their destination. 

These drops originated over 6 miles up and they made it all the way to my front window. Fighting their way to their destination, nothing, I mean nothing, was going to stop them. Deter them, yes; stop them, not a chance. Rarely did a drop ever go straight down. It was normal, even expected, to be detoured. 

And there we have the life-lesson. You knew it was coming, didn't you?

We are all created individually, and specifically, for a purpose. Our lives are fleeting, compared to the eternity that awaits. We may choose to navigate with a partner, we may travel this journey without one. But we can count on life's journey never being straight and predictable. And, once we invite Him into our lives, we can count on our Creator's presence forever and that He will never, ever leave us totally alone. (Hebrews 13:5) 

The rain that ran down my front window dripped off the wooden frame directly into the flowerbed. It wet the shredded newspaper, clean crushed eggshells, and coffee grounds that my mom put behind the most beautiful azaleas I have ever seen. My mom knew that the ground needed to be prepared and it had to be fertile. Our house was near a lake; it would do no good for the rain to hit the hard, thick clay that made up the lake bed. But combined with the organic material that Mama so faithfully supplied, our azaleas had a color I have never seen anywhere else. A cross between purple and fuchsia that celebrated the uniqueness of our Creator. They were thick and healthy and they provided a shelter for our sweet dogs, tiny sparrows, and a fleet of Tonka trucks and Hot Wheels. 

As I write this, the Sun is coming out after a Sunday that included a dynamic presentation of the Gospel at 8am, hard, cold rain, and even snow (on the last day of Winter)! It's been a full and wonderful day. And I know that, as great as that sermon was, it would do no good if I didn't prepare my heart to receive the message that was presented. Our lessons in this life do no good if we do not receive them into an open heart. And, once received, if we don't share the knowledge that has come our way, what good are they?

So as the Lord sends us a shower of messages, pray that your heart will be the fertile soil necessary for them to flourish and bloom. And prepare to be astounded at the blessings yet to come! 

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