It's probably just me, but I find it difficult to remember to water the plants in my office. There’s only three and I see them everyday! Yet I’ve easily (or conveniently) ignored them everyday. Until recently.
I’m not sure a dying plant speaks very well of my ability to care.
Everyday that I walk or drive the streets of my city, I usually take the same route. This means that I’m looking at the same things every day. It also means that I’m probably not seeing what or who is actually there.
My eyes are open, but not really.
I need my eyes to open. I want to see what I’ve never noticed; I want to notice what I’ve always seen.
I’m not sure a hurting neighborhood or city speaks very well of my ability or willingness to care.
But if the love and grace of God have their way, I’ll start somewhere. I’ll notice and pay attention. I’ll stop and listen. I’ll sacrifice and give. I’ll come to realize that the city’s not only here for me, but that I’m also here for it, and maybe even more so in God’s eyes.
It appears it doesn’t take as much time for something to come back to life as it does for it to die. My plants are green again and growing. Time and water, daily attention and care. That’s what I can do. But what I can’t produce or command or control is life itself.
God gives life and God gives growth when and where we plant and water (1 Corinthians 3:6).
One of my plants is drinking water like my son does after running hard. I can hear it, and it sounds desperate. All around me people are weary and working hard; many are hurting and giving up. Kindness to most is welcome. It is intriguing, surprising, refreshing. Kindness is also powerful. It is shocking, a “force quit”, a restart.
It was, after all, God’s undeserved kindness towards me that led me to Him (Romans 2:4).
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