Love Should Grow Up Like a Wild Iris in the Fields
Love should grow up like a wild iris in the fields, unexpected, after a terrible storm, opening a purple mouth to the rain, with not a thought to the future, ignorant of the grass and the graveyard of leaves around, forgetting its own beginning. Love should grow like a wild iris but does not. Love more often is to be found in kitchens at the dinner hour, tired out and hungry, lingers over tables in houses where the walls record movements, while the cook is probably angry, and the ingredients of the meal are budgeted, while a child cries feed me now and her mother not quite hysterical says over and over, wait just a bit, just a bit, love should grow up in the fields like a wild iris but never does really startle anyone, was to be expected, was to be predicted, is almost absurd, goes on from day to day, not quite blindly, gets taken to the cleaners every fall, sings old songs over and over, and falls on the same piece of rug that never gets tacked down, gives up, wants to hide, is not brave, knows too much, is not like an iris growing wild but more like staring into space in the street not quite sure which door it was, annoyed about the sidewalk being slippery, trying all the doors, thinking if love wished the world to be well, it would be well. Love should grow up like a wild iris, but doesn't, it comes from the midst of everything else, sees like the iris of an eye, when the light is right, feels in blindness and when there is nothing else is tender, blinks, and opens face up to the skies. ~ Susan Griffin ~
i don't remember meeting Him He had just always been there when people ask me, "how did you meet the Lord?" i don't know how to answer. meeting Him seems unavoidable recognizing Him can be tricky loving Him seems impossible. people often ask that too - "do you love Jesus?" and again i'm stuck for an answer i know the right one - the answer you're supposed to give i know that it presupposes so many things that it could hardly be honest so i say as much as i love, i love Jesus.
if love was easier, i would love Him more but then again if love was easier, it would hardly be worth the little it would ask if i was stronger, i would love Him more or maybe i would more know how little i love
we grow slowly, and love takes time...
He's always been there even in that dark room where i slept as a child scared of that dark in that room that seem to want to suck me deep into the night's great lungs i hated the thought that we were all hanging upside down - off the bottom of the world and that all that darkness out there that we might fall into was just a shadow of our own selves just a shadow you could fall through forever.
she said that You were out there too and then she'd tuck me in so tight that i would likely be safe till morning but no woman - not even your own mother can kiss you without mixing some unspoken sorrow into her affection and i always thought she might be kissing me good-bye as well as good night
my aunt said that Jesus would knock on the door of my heart and if i would open the door He'd come in and sup with me and when i was old enough to be ashamed of trying to tether myself to my mom (with that last desperate good night) i decided that instead of lying there being afraid i would listen for His knock.
i heard all kinds of things scary things amplified by the dark and by my nervous and hopeful listenings was it the voice of Eli? or the call of God? was it the limbs of the trees outside? or the knock i was to open to?
i did not worry about what Jesus would find to eat if He came in i was a child and knew that out of a crowd a boy would most likely have some fish and some loaves
but i am no longer a child i am no longer afraid of the dark i have new things to fear i am no longer afraid that i will drift away from this world i am afraid i will never escape it.
and i'm not afraid of good-byes i've become so used to them it scares me.
i have never heard any knocking sound that was distinct from every other noise but i have learned to listen and i'm thankful for learning
i don't know that the rumble of the thunder or the crackle in a good fire or the hum of my wheels is the sound of Jesus knocking on the door of my heart but i'm thankful to Him for all those sounds and for giving me ears and for teaching me to listen.
i don't know that the lonely ache that i feel - even when times are the best and friends are near - is the way that it feels when He knocks, when He calls, but i'm thankful to have a heart. i don't know that He would like everything in it or that He would find any fish or loaves anymore or much besides stone and snakes.
but sometimes i get really brave, and if i don't open the door i at least unlock it
and when i look in or when i look out i can see that He's just always been there.
meeting Him seems unavoidable recognizing Him can be tricky loving Him seems impossible
I'm a 55 year old college student majoring in fine arts, with 4 children (12, 18, 25, 26) and live in the metropolis of Chiloquin, somewhere in the mountains of Oregon. I am planning to go to Portland State University in Spring 2012 and major in Graphic Arts. My interests include photography, camping and other outdoor activities, as well as writing and a new interest in watercolor.
This blog is just stuff I've been writing about, some thoughts, articles I find interesting, Christianity, stories and lots of quizzes .... My it challenge, inspire and make you laugh on occasion as well! Life really is interesting!