FORESTS ABLAZE WITH COLOR

 It seems I am always running. How about you? Seasons come and go; leaves, set fire by some Heavenly paintbrush, cry for me to slow my pace, but I barely hear their whisper. How is it I am still deaf to their call as they burn brilliantly in the late afternoon sun; interesting that I wait till dusk to walk, as if I am afraid to confront their query. I stop, take a picture and move on, unmoved it seems. Life has to be lived, dishes washed, laundry folded, dinners made, and the leaf dances before my closed eyes. The window of my soul needs to be cracked open.

 The mountains and valleys are awash in light, as if the God of the universe spends the evenings dipping the edges of each tree in gold or crimson. He is powerful, the psalmist says, "The voice of the Lord twists the oaks and strips the forest bare. And in His temple all cry, "Glory!" Psalm 29:9 It is glorious, what He does to the trees, to the seasons, making them march at His command and sending His storehouses of snow for us to play in, as if He knew we were little children needing a gift. I marvel and yet gain perspective on my unwillingness to stop. Stopping in His temple to cry, "Glory!" is another matter entirely; I admire the canvas He creates, but tremble when His voice touches me.

He has already stripped so much, how can I trust Him to take the last little budding blooms and wipe them out as well? How in this world, bent with so much brokenness and evil, can I believe that He is good and will be faithful to those I love? (Crying, "Glory!" is affirming His holiness and goodness). If I keep making, baking, creating, cleaning and loving, in my broken way, maybe I can keep the tall trees safe from the One whose voice strips the forest bare. Maybe He will stop His stripping and let them flourish. I confuse bearing leaves with bearing fruit, that what looks like death on the outside is new life and greater growth from within.

I want  to cling to my small little flower, heedless to the majestic mountains that sing their song. I wonder if the symphony is made of color?

Medicine from Sacred Scripture:

"For My thoughts are not your thoughts and My ways not your ways," declares the Lord. "As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are My ways higher than your ways and My thoughts than your thoughts. As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is My word that goes out from My mouth: It will not return to Me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. You will go out with joy and be led forth in peace; the mountains and hills will burst into song before you, and all the trees of the field will clap their hands." Isaiah 55:8-12