The dawn chorus has gained a heavy bass percussion, which is
jarring and unrhythmic. It is a dinosaur of a tree-thinning machine, and its
operator rouses it into life around 6 am.
It’s always sad to see trees go down. But I have to admit
that this morning, I noticed that the deep dark woods were no longer deep nor
dark, but dappled with trees displaying their lovely spring foliage. Previously
these magnificent trees were hidden by an arboreal crowd, but now they strutted
their stuff, so to speak, like divas on the catwalk. The sunlight, whenever it
returns to us, will now reach the forest floor and no doubt warm seeds long
dormant there, teasing them into growth. New life has a chance.
Our Father is the heavenly gardener. Never mind starting work
at dawn: scripture says that he never sleeps. He’s always working, pruning and cutting
out those things in our lives which plunge new shoots of faith into shadow and prevent
our flourishing and living the lives to the full which Jesus longs for us to
have. May I be open to receive whatever thinning operations he deems profitable
to my faith and life.
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