spring, day the first

Cherokee roses today. Thistles. Red clover.

Pecans, avocado, and smoked Gouda cheese with the chicken atop my salad greens.

Very few trees naked now.

Birds singing in the dim before I was fully awake. …And yet your heavenly Father feeds them.

It is vain for you to rise up early, to retire late, to eat the bread of painful labors; for He gives to His beloved even in his sleep.

And yet I lay awake late, next things taunting me with unwritten applications, unmade decisions.

They asked me yesterday where my heart is. How, if the thing you want is a good thing, but you cannot pursue it? Where then?

How, when I am torn between Tennyson’s “Lotus Eaters” — their “land where all things always seemed the same” — and his “Ulysses” “always roaming with a hungry heart”?

And still He calls His little one to rest, to trust, to hold to the things that are certain and then step, and step, and step.

I am not sure-footed, but His hands will not let go.

 

2 thoughts on “spring, day the first

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