On an impulse, I held my left hand up and captured the images shared above. The phrase, “Reachimg for the sun,” surfaced within me. And with the words the memory of the story of a man who flew too close to the sun and perished. And I was grateful that there is no such thing as coming too close to God. In fact, we are safest when close to Him. Moreover, He invites us to come to Him. Offers this promise, that when I draw close to Him, He draws close to me. And the reality is that He initiates the procress of erasing any distance between us. There is no such thing as being too close to the Son.
P.S. Do you see a cross in the sunburst? It is God’s incomprehensible love made clearly visible in the agonies of the Cross, that makes it possible for me, for you, for us, to draw close to the Holy God.
The Artist uses the sun with bold brushstrokes,
painting the canvas that is sky
with bold colors –
fuschia, orange, bright yellows.
His brushstrokes seem tender, gentle,
and the sky is covered in soft pinks,
and baby blues, and creamy yellows.
And in our lives,
The Artist is at work,
even using “colors”
(our experiences, events, choices)
that were not part of His original design,
to paint something beautiful.
Instead of turning around at the intersection, as planned, during my Saturday morning walk, I decided to turn right onto the grassy knoll and walk for a bit. To my pleasant surprise, after a few steps, I realized there was an unpaved path along the side of the road. I followed it and found the treasures captured in the photos below. I have lived in this town for more than a decade but today was the first time I found this path. The experience was a reminder that chosing a different path can, sometimes, be very rewarding. #offthebeatenpath
The tree had shed its leaves before
but in the fall seasons,
as it was supposed to do,
in preparation for the winter months.
An act that facilitated its survival.
But this time,
in these early summer months,
the fallen leaves were not part of
a process for survival
of the absence of life.
The tree had died.
And I think of human life
and how strategies that demonstrated our
ability to survive
in one season,
can be evidence that we are
our thriving inhibited.
Stark evidence of our desperate need
to learn new and healthier ways of being.
Seasons give context.
Seasons give meaning.
© 2017 by Esther W. Wright
Joining graydaysandcoffee for iphriday
Joining graydaysandcoffee for iPhriday. The trees in the forefront of the photos remind me to let His handiwork, not mine, be my point of reference, during this Resurrection season and always.
I enjoy peppers in salads, stir fried with ginger, and in other foods, and they are usually in my cart when I am grocery shopping. At some point last year, I decided to begin saving the seeds and try growing peppers this spring. Although I did not plant them in the spring, as I intended, I eventually sowed the dried seeds from several peppers in a container. Over the weeks, I observed, with pleasure, the growth from seedlings to full grown plants. I was fist pumping excited when I noticed flowers, then tiny peppers which increased in size.
My problem was, I could not remember whether I had planted green, yellow, or red peppers, having omitted to tag the seeds when I saved them. All the peppers were green as they grew (bear with me you seasoned gardeners with your ultra green thumbs; I can hear your snickering). Then one day, a bit of color caught my eyes among all the green. I moved the leaves aside and saw this.
I felt a mixture of wonder and excitement. I was witnessing a transformation. Today, approximately a week later, I saw the final version. Transformation takes time, patience, and nurturing, but the outcome makes it all worthwhile.