the confining christian life.
the wires and the pruning. the relentless discipline to become a miracle of sorts. a seemingly impossible spot of shade and shelter in an undisciplined world.
could anyone look at me and see a towering tree in miniature? i wonder.
we visit another church.
ever since we stopped trying to start our own church, some sundays find us watching other people’s expressions of following jesus together.
it can make a body feel lonely.
but it’s nice, too. people rooted in small pots, leaves cut back and straining to be less than they’d naturally be, all for the sake of one man raised from the dead.
but tiny forests can feel so established and transplanting is a big deal.
you can’t just transplant willy nilly.
life with jesus clips closer than sunday morning though.
it’s the words i say.
it’s the apology that i can’t seem to form on my lips.
it’s be careful little eyes and keep your mouth shut right now.
you may see a representation of the jesus tree when you look at me, but it is the years of cultivating my heart; the effort and ingenuity of the grower that you really see.
and the patience.
the trees stand as monuments of his time. and why, i wonder? just to prove it can be done, i guess.
can a human being resemble god? well, it seems presumptuous to even ask. and he is.
presumption in the extreme, i suppose. like the doctor.
i sit in wonder at the lives you’ve re-imagined, lord, at the work of your hands. so much time invested in a seemingly pointless endeavors.
but the patient cultivation of your life is not pointless, my friends.
trust me. i can see you.
gratitude journal ~ one thousand gifts ~ 2153 – 2169
leaves on the lawn
lightest rain on fallish leaves