I wouldn't consider myself the "nature-type". You know, the earthy-crunchy-type: the purist. However, I am one who enjoys nature. Very much so. I like to get out and get close to, what those silly evolutionists call, my inner-primal-being that once belonged to my billion-year-old-monkey-ancestors. No, but really, I like feeling as if I'm roughing it. As long as there is a working restroom somewhere close by, some bug spray, and a car I can climb into in case of a thunderstorm. Other than that, I'm pretty good at being able to leave behind my lip-gloss and the cancer-preventing sunscreen (to take advantage of the UV rays, during peak hours, in order to achieve that optimal color of golden-brown awesome-ness we call a 'tan', of course).
There is this journey we are all on called: life.
Some know how to take the time to stop.
See the pretty white flowers with the happy yellow centers.
To notice their jolly countenance.
To enjoy them.
And to move in closer to smell.
Smell the sweet fragrance they produce.
And to maybe,
for even a moment,
contemplate the bee and his hungry obsession with them.
However, some only know how to
and propel forward.
Using their own steam.
They are the ones who need their faces shoved, hard, right down inside those dainty petals to even recognize their existence. Let alone their purpose.
Sure. I'd like to think I'm tender-hearted and observant. But, alas, I struggle. I like control. As in the words of the infamous BK king, "Have it your way." That is...my way.
Back in December, I almost met Jesus. Shove.
"When you are weak, I am strong," He says. Shove harder. Ouch.
All was stripped away. Who am I? What do I do now? Lord, where are you?
Just a few days ago...
...there they were...
little white flowers at my feet. And all along my path.Philippians 1:6 and 1 Corinthians 1:8.
Christ is the ONE who keeps me strong. No matter my failings. No matter how much I seem to screw up the beautiful plan He has for my life. He will keep me strong until the day of Jesus Christ. He will perform a good work in me. His Will. It will be done. In spite of me.
And what do I do? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Rest in Him.
In the pretty white flowers with the happy yellow centers.
And just as I carry my weary, tired, worn-out little girl down the path toward home. So too, will Christ carry me. And He will present me. And I will stand blameless. All because of Him.