The quiet work

I notice, when I stop and look around our garden, how quiet the Lord's work is.

There are secret goings-on. Much I cannot see.

And I notice there is much promise of what is to come.





I notice how content He is with slowness. God is so very patient with the half-hidden, ripening fruit.





I cannot tell a difference, one day to the next, looking at my tomatoes.

But they are ripening, filling, and each minute growing closer to mature. I know it because I can see the green. Their vine is alive, having everything it needs. And so there is a promise of maturity, if they remain.


I notice His work is executed with care and pride. He looks on His art with a smile. Even if only He sees it.





Even if every other living creature walks by, failing to see what He's doing,

He sees.

He knows what He's doing. He keeps caring. Shaping. Marveling at the beautiful unfolding.





That's what artists do, you know. Make beauty out of nothing. They take dust of the earth and create the extraordinary.

A true artist is satisfied to be the only one who sees, really sees a thing...a canvas, or a sculpture, or a heart...for it's loveliness.





We are so blessed to get glimpses. We can photograph a flower. We can hear a story. We can hold a hand. But these bits are flickers, like distant stars in blackness.

Whether a tender tomato or fragile heart, I think we really cannot fathom how miraculous the works of the Lord truly are.