I hoped to bring a few strawberries in from the garden for
breakfast. In fact, I found only one that was red enough, and not nibbled by
snails or pecked by birds. In the sodden garden, the strawberries look soggy, unripe
and unappetising. They are crying out for the warmth of the summer sun.
Last year, we had a rare summer with little precipitation
and armfuls of sunshine. The berries grew ripe and sweet, but we did have to
water them ourselves.
We need a balance of sun and moisture to produce a big,
sweet crop.
There lurks within my heart a kernel of a seed. I envision
it like an unexploded popcorn kernel. It is hard and useless. Over my heart I
have positioned an umbrella of self. I readily see my own needs. I readily see the
inadequacies of others in serving those needs. I deflect the softening moisture
of the Spirit, defensively repositioning the umbrella when his whispers correct
me.
Today with his help I take that umbrella down. I open myself
to the Spirit’s life-giving rain, to the Son’s life-giving warmth and light.
May that kernel within me pop, or grow, and provide for others this day. And
may he keep me from seeking to open up that umbrella ever again. I can only do
this by his grace. May his grace overrule my rebellious heart this day and
forever more. Amen.
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