The thermometer outside the kitchen window registered below
freezing – Celsius! – this morning, or about 28 degrees Fahrenheit. Either way,
it’s cold.
Dusty’s in her element. She loves this sort of weather.
Maybe I would too, if I had a permanent fur coat fixed onto my body.
So we made it right round behind Jock’s this morning. Dusty
hasn’t come with me that far for awhile, so I was surprised this morning by the
sight of the giant larch trees, branches barely lifting their skirts above the
ground...branches which, this morning, looked on fire. They are glowing in
their autumn finery, which is auburn and yellow and orange, and with the shape
of the branches the impression is one of flames licking skyward.
But there is no heat accompanying it. It’s deceptive and
disappointing when you’re standing gazing, as if at the side of a bonfire (an appropriate allusion on Guy Fawkes Day), yet
with no warming heat wafting your way.
It made me think of some people, who give off an impression
of warmth but at their core is a pretty cold, hard heart pounding away inside
their chests. Attractive – charismatic even – but it’s all a sham.
Which is a shame – for them as well as for others who have
to rub up alongside them. Because there is no fooling God. He knows the health
of the heart beating inside each chest. He knows the integrity of each of us
and he isn’t impressed by a show of love.
Because He is the real thing. His is a love that goes way
beyond the superficial show, all the way to the Cross. Perhaps at times we long
to hear his voice, his words, but in the end, he doesn’t need to tell us he
loves us in words, because he has demonstrated it at such a cost to himself. An
eternal cost to himself, because he will never be the same as he was before he
was incarnated and born as a baby boy into this world.
And once we have given our hearts to him, neither will we.
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