Wednesday, July 25, 2012

Consider the Lilies Ruth Smith Meyer

Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin;  and yet I say to you that even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. Matthew 6:28,29, (NKJV)
      Two years ago a friend gave me a small clump of what she called “Moonflowers.”  They are a variety of Evening Primrose.  Most flowers open in the sunlight.  Some close up each evening and open again in the morning, but these are unique in their ways.
       Many evenings after the sun has disappeared from the horizon but when there is still a little leftover light, I wait beside the flower bed, thrilled in anticipation.  The tightly closed buds look as though they would be days from opening, but as I watch, the stem begins to quiver a bit. Very soon the sides of the buds begin to burst open to show little slits of yellow. Then, right before my eyes, the change happens—from a closed bud to a fully open flower in the matter of a few seconds.  Sometimes the buds open one at a time, sometimes several simultaneously, but the delight never diminishes.  Last night, as I watched this extraordinary miracle, my mind opened, like the flower before me and made a connection to my present experience.
       My husband and I have been experiencing a time of darkness or deep shadows because of a rare kind of cancer he has acquired and our journey with it.  Yet through all this time we have been so very conscious of the prayers of many people as well as the faithfulness of our God. We have felt an abiding peace and gladness in that knowledge.
      It seems to me that our joy in the unfathomable reliability and dependability of God is much like the brightness of those yellow flowers blooming in the darkness. Both bring a burst of elation, a sense of awe and a sanctuary for our souls, knowing that God is working in delightful, different and unexpected ways in all the situations of our lives—even when the sunlight is hidden and the darkness envelopes us.
      Another insight presented itself to me as well.  In order to see the miracle of the opening flower, I need to go into the darkness, sit and wait.  If I stay in the familiar comfort of my brightly-lit house, working at a myriad of tasks, ignoring the darkness, I miss that quiet blessing of the opening bloom and the inspiration it brings.
      How good to know God is in charge. How delightful to discover that He brings blossoms in the night-times of our lives so that even there, we can be conscious of His presence and love.  


Peter Black said...

Ruth, thank you for sharing out of Paul's and your current experience of finding light in the midst of darkness and bringing that light out to help others of us see.
On another level I felt your sense of childlike excitement and wonder in your anticipating the opening of the flower in the moonlight -- a marvel of how our Creator God has fashioned us.

Carolyn Wilker said...

Hi Ruth,

We once had a similar kind of flower that opened in the evening. How neat to watch and treasure its uniqueness. Thinking of you and Paul at this time.

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