Perspective

It's not until the grass begins to crunch under my feet and I have to drag the water hose all over the yard just to keep my botanical treasures from teetering at the brink of death that I remember, oh yeah, this is my least favorite time of year. When I go out to visit my beautiful garden, all I can see is an overgrown mess and it's easy to forget how glorious it will be, LORD willing, come late spring.

Don't tell the butterflies how dismal things are, though; they're completely oblivious, not caring the least bit that the garden is once again my "wild child" -- unruly and rebelling against every boundary I've set. They're too busy flitting from zinnia to cosmos, hungrily drinking in every ounce of nectar, dancing through the air like tipsy ballerinas.  As I sat on the garden bench, determining to see past the disarray and appreciate the beauty that was truly there, it occurred to me that I could be getting pictures of these 'painted ladies' so I dashed in the house to grab my camera.

First Love

July 12, 2016

What does it mean to "leave your first love"?

Maybe, when we first become Christians everything is new and exciting. So much to learn, so much to know, and we are so eager to please this Savior-- the One who has done so much, so very much for us. " We will do anything for You, LORD!"

After a while, we begin to settle into this routine of doing. We don't ask anymore, "What would You have me do?" because we already know. We get up in the morning and start our doing, our living for God. We go through the motions, set ourselves on autopilot. Maybe, without even realizing it, our service becomes . . . self-service. It feels good, after all, to be doing all the right things and pleasing God, to boot! 

Except, we're not.

We may have fooled ourselves into believing we are following His agenda but He knows the truth. All dressed up in our Sunday-best, we are once again calling the shots, setting our own schedules; taking the skeleton pieces of His will and fleshing it out to make it our own. Something we can feel more comfortable with; a better fit.

Well then, if the love He wants from us is a love that obeys and serves, but not on our own terms, what does that look like?

Is it opening our eyes in the morning and our first thought being, "There is nothing on my agenda today that is set in stone. Your will, not mine, be done"?

Making sure there is time for Him, with Him before anything or anyone else?

Choosing to be still and quiet when every fiber of our being strains to be up and going?

Decreasing, as He increases, even when we desperately desire to be acknowledged, affirmed?

" Remember therefore from whence thou art fallen, and repent, and do the first works."

Remember. 

    

Bless Her Sweet, Motherly Heart

"Did you get the eggs today," he asked, after shutting the girls safely in their sleeping coop for the night.

"No. Why?"
"Well, Giblet's in the little coop and I just left her in there. Do you think she's sitting on them? She must be broody again."

For the second time this year, poor Giblet, the most motherly hen in the flock, seemed determined to hatch a little family of her own. Without a resident rooster, however, Giblet's most sincere efforts would be sadly futile. 

So, I went out to see for myself and, sure enough, there she was-- not on the roost to sleep, trying to enjoy a night to herself, away from the other girls--  but sitting in the nest box with that far away look in her eyes.

The last time this happened with the old girl, my first thought was that she was egg-bound so I brought her in the house, ran a Dale I go bath, and submerged her bottom in it. It must have felt wonderfully relaxing because she soon expressed an enormous   . . . poop. Absolutely not what I had anticipated would come out! (Caleigh had been observing this "Operation Rescue" and, horrified, announced that she would never take another bath in that tub! I assured her, as I let out the water, sprayed the messiness down the drain, and ran clean water, that I would be scrubbing the bathtub with bleach before anyone needed it.) It was only after I had wrapped Giblet in a towel to dry her, wondering what the next step would be, that the Preacher suggested that she might be broody. Aha! 

For the next few days, Giblet persisted in staying on the eggs the other girls laid so I would remove them and put a few ice cubes in their place. She never gave me a fit when I would pick her up and take "her" eggs and it wasn't long until the instinct to hatch chicks seemed to pass and she was back out with the other girls, scratching and digging craters in the yard.

This last attempt by Giblet to brood was much easier to thwart and ended quickly. Maybe the urge wasn't as strong as before or maybe, just maybe, it was just not worth all the trouble it caused her.