Shepherd

A reflection on Easter Sunday

He knows His own
And speaks to us -- comprehensibly --
And gives us life abundant,
Free from predation,
From starvation,
From despair, disdain, disgrace.

His beauty is mine in truth;
Mine because I see it,
Mine because I own it
And wear it
And swim in it
And do not drown in it
Only because divine breath
Abides within my lungs,
On my forehead
And in my soul.

Short, Sweet, Perfect.

Here's a fantastic anecdote, told artfully by one of my favorite story-tellers, Jonathan Rogers.

The Rabbit Room — Ball:

I smiled and cried, but you might not.

Beauty Within the Mess

This morning, I was in a hurry to get to work. As I opened the car door to put my laptop case inside, I noticed that my lawn was looking a little shaggy. Or, to be precise, a lot shaggy:

I will be the first to admit that I am a terrible groundskeeper. My grass is always the longest on the block, and every August, it's one of the first to die from the overwhelming heat. (Just between you and me, I would kill it off earlier than that if I could.)

It's not that I wouldn't like to have a nice-looking lawn; it's just that I normally have better things to spend my time and money on. Nonetheless, that doesn't stop me from feeling just a wee bit ashamed when my yard looks like this. I mean, who likes having a constant reminder of his failings every time he steps outside his door? Not this guy.

So, with my daily dose of yard-guilt successfully internalized, I was ready to rush off to work, hopefully not arriving too late for my first meeting.

Then, as I was putting my laptop case and lunch bag into the car, I saw something that stopped me cold. I have probably looked at my front yard a dozen times in the past week, but I never noticed this: 

 Or this:

 Or this:

Lovely, no? They have been buried within that messy yard for a long time, but I never had the eyes to see them until this morning. What's more, I wouldn't have even gotten to see them if I weren't such a negligent homeowner.

Suddenly, I didn't care how late I was going to be. It seemed much more important to take a little bit of time to intentionally enjoy these blessings that my gracious Maker left in the most unexpected of places.

The New Testament book of James says, "Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows."

My experience this morning made me realize that I am perhaps too hasty in deciding what those good and perfect gifts are -- or aren't.

I'm glad the Giver has a better imagination -- and a farther-reaching vision -- than I do.