Well, I must say that I was pleasantly surprised to see that butterfly pic posted on the BBC website (see previous post for link). I sent 3 pictures and 3 captions. BBC editors chose not match the pic with the caption, which is OK with me. I submitted the pics as a whim.
In truth, this picture was taken as I invested time with the Lord in my very small garden in our back yard. I saw a tiger swallow butterfly perch at the top of my butterfly bush. I laid down my Bible and journal and picked up my camera–click! Another moment with the Lord captured on a Canon. The Canon took the great photo, but it was truly God’s artwork that we’re all staring at, mouths gaping, wondering, How’d he do that?
I spend the first hours of my day “under the Tree of Life”. I can’t wait to get there! He speaks to me and I write down what he says. Does that ever happen to you?
God has shown me that there are still two trees in the Garden and every day (morning or evening) we must choose where we will settle down–under the “stuff we know” or under the LIFE of God.
I wrote previously in this blog about these two trees, but I must tell you that every day this week as I asked our Father, “What do you want me to write about now on the blog?” He answers, “Write about the Tree of Life. I WANT them to be childlike and return to creation (like a little child) to see me and feel me again.”
Tall order! Holy Spirit, help us all! I’m an adult, too, and obtaining this childlikeness is not always easy.
But God is jealous for our attention.
Picture this: Hot coffee and toast in hand, you peer out a window or sit outside in the great outdoors. No reading, no talking, just nibbling and watching, sipping and listening; barely breathing because you don’t want to disturb the wonder you know will come to the canvas.
Cardinals play King of the Mountain on a small pine tree–up, down, left, right, until they tire of the game and fly off. A dove lands on the porch railing and inspects the scene before her, doing 180 turns as she determines her next flight. A black and white speckled woodpecker knocks on every door, tree to tree, gathering wood-bound insects. The fingers of the sun rise to streak the landscape, pointing west. The sun . . . the crown of the glory of God. We blink into the sun’s contents and glory angels unseen by earth guard its rhythms and rotations and stoke its fires. God was here. I can tell. The imprint of his beauty and divine order, all set in perfect motion, decry the fall of man call him and call her to look again into the heavens for the face of their Creator.
Do they see me? he asks.
She drives to work, her cell phone to her ear. A teenage girl sleeps in and misses the symphony. A boy plugs his ears with earth music and slumps into his seat on the school bus. The office manager rushes into the building, checks his watch, and pushes open the door. The writer sits in his “cave” and tap-punches his fingers against a deadline.
Do they see me? he asks.
There! A toddler with hooded jacket wanders onto the canvas of green, squats, and squishes its wetness between his fingers. COLD! He shakes his hand and shoves his fingers into his mouth. MORE! He repeats the exercise until he tires of it or he spies a robin, whichever comes first.
He sees me, God says, with a smile.
And the child falls on his rump and rolls to his side. Giggles! Back and forth, back and forth, side to side. Feels good! A line of drool slides down his chin.
Deep smelly grass stains. Wet shoes. Dirty hands. God laughs.
Belly down, the toddler looks up. Eyes twinkle upward. Eyes twinkle downward. Giggles!
God is satisfied.