Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Outside, Inside

It's been raining since early morning. The water runs in rivulets down the drive. A January rain is a cold thing.
Puddles spread and dampen the dry twigs.
Raindrops don't show in still shots, but droplets dangle on the trees like forgotten Christmas crystals.
The dead tree-matter is happy to be on the porch, out of the wet.
But -- inside, on this rainy day, we are warm. Adam started a fire early.
And I made bread. Dough is so pure-looking, so deceptive.
One must man-handle it, twist and compress and abuse it, to make bread.
And put it through heat,
Before it is useful, delicious. That's a fine crust.

I have two rosemaries in pots. They sat side by side near the driveway, through the cold and snow. One is thriving; one is dying.  What's going on, in the inside? Why did one not have the strength to live? Live tree-matter loves the rain and soaks up the moisture.
Adam stoked the fire after lunch. I have too many thoughts rumbling around in my head.
About why Jesus let Lazarus die, and made his sisters weep, when He could have raised him with a simple thought, from afar. But he waited, and let many suffer, so His disciples' faith would grow.  Do others suffer at times, so that God can grow my faith?

About injustice, and how life does not turn out as it does in the books and the movies, where the character who's been ill-treated finds vindication in the end. I ask myself why I read such things. It gives me an unnatural hope for my own life, that someone will finally do the right thing, and do what is needed for Adam to have the pastorate here in Statesville, that both he and the church want. Why does God allow even His own people sometimes to do the wrong thing, and damage others? I know He can make up all of it to us, either in this life or the next.  But I find myself longing for Him to convince the hearts of His people to do right. There's so much wrong in this fallen world that cannot be avoided; we should rid our lives of all of it that is avoidable.

About how little we parents know of our children.  Adam and I realized years ago that children have their own, private "kid world." We've taught hundreds of teens over the years. If you don't remember how you kept your mind, your ideas, your world, private from your parents when you were a kid, then you've forgotten too much. Parents today are too inclined to think their children are good, down to their toes. I remember my child soul.  It was filthy and riddled with sins of all stripes.  It's good to recall this, and look at my children, and know they are just the same. Only then -- only then -- can I help them out of their own troubles. Until I do, I am no parent.

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