Just inside Daddy’s garden shed, beside the door, was a nail — a nail in a sure place reserved for Daddy’s cap. His baseball cap stained with sweat and garden soil could always be found hanging on that nail.
Unless, of course, the cap was on his precious bald head.
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Lord, I’m so thankful to be Your child. Your love is from everlasting to everlasting. Set me apart, Lord — You have called me to be holy as You are holy. You have called me to be in this world, not of this world. This can only happen by embracing sanctification.
But can it wait just a little bit longer? Sanctification is not easy. It requires me to die to self, to crucify the flesh. And that’s hard.
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One of my hostas broke through the cold, hard dirt of winter too early this year. Its location circling the old juniper receives constant sun and faces south. I suppose this little guy got confused and pushed its way through the protective soil before winter had completely lost its grip. In his haste, he was rushing spring.
This determined hosta sprouted about four inches, its tightly wound leaves pointing like spikes toward the sky. The other hostas forming a circle around the juniper lay dormant, safe beneath the blanket of soil, waiting for the appointed time to emerge.
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“Preserve me, O God, for in You I have put my trust.” ~ Psalm 16:1, NKJV...
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I wait for the sunrise, for surely it will come. But it takes time. The ebony of night fades into ribbons of lavender swirling through a golden sky, and soon the sun crests the mountain ridge.
Like the darkness morphing into glorious light, so ashes will bring forth beauty.
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