It is our nature to scream through life scarcely aware of the miraculous provision right at our feet or up on the hill that seems so far away. Errant dreams, dashed hopes and tearful tomorrows conspire to wage an all out war against personal peace which seems illusive even on a good day.
The encyclopedia of God's creation has limitless examples of the loud and furious planet producing act when the Master of all things spoke and waters, sky, mountains and plain spouted up out of the nothingness of a brooding promise. And in between the front line creative acts which brought the house down tiny little miracles became the sinew for what we came to call "the world".
Snails. Plankton. Ants. Delicate flowers. Consider "Cathar Anthus Rojeus" or in our horticultural lexicon-- "the periwinkle".
A foot level flowering vine creeping quietly in the gardening beds of faith. Often as with other creation "runts of the litter" overlooked. With cosmic intensity the womb of the universe birthed it all with Jehovah as midwife and sire. Humans took center stage. Animals next. Flora and fauna made bows to the thunderous applause. And somewhere like rich crumbs falling from the King's table came mini miracles in time's seminal creative act. Like this common yet miraculous little flower. The periwinkle.
Thought to have been originally "planted" in ancient Madagascar this magic wand weaves properties both aesthetic and medicinal into a frequently hearty and often curiously fragile plant. Sometimes pale pink with a purple eye she is rough and delicate. Ubiquitous and solitary. Fast growing and stunted. A study in tension and contrasts. But when crushed this lioness yields alkaloid rich nectars used around the globe for the creeping diseases of life. Bleeding, blood pressure, cancer, infections-- all have tribal, native and modern treatments taken from the small veins of a beautiful flower after she is obliterated.
They die.
Others live.
And it struck me this eternal rhythm of living and dying especially to self is mirrored in the creation I take for granted. Your life teems with the turmoil of the unfolding covenant. The rocks, hills, plants and creatures offer spiritual sign language of our God and King's footprints on our sphere of wonder emblazoned with all the colors of the rainbow. New healing surprises greet us in a lush amazon, distant island, rocky crag or ocean floor.
And He whispers again through each solitary periwinkle. I made you. It was glorious.
You contain healing balms for a hurting world. Be crushed. The aroma and sap are life-giving elements in my hands. And others will be touched in their severe moments of agony if you are willing to die. God never wastes a moment. Or a miracle. But She leaves a missing puzzle piece to each reforming act.
That piece is you. Harvest the multicolored periwinkles in your garden. You are the steward of your own gift. Leave a few in a vase on your small kitchen table. Water them daily. As a reminder of who we serve. And what He alone gave. Then take your healing brokenness to your hurting world.
And watch God smile.
Butch Maltby
No comments:
Post a Comment