On my kitchen window sill there are two juice glasses that have avocado seeds suspended by toothpicks on the rim, the seed bottoms soaking in water. My mother used to do this when she (very infrequently) bought an avocado - there is just something about a seed that massive that begs to be sprouted. I remember as a kid that it seemed to take forever but Mom had several avocado plants in pots as proof that it could be done.
I was doing my morning purge of kitchen detritus and in my "putz wut" (German: cleaning fury) was just about to dump those seeds when I noticed a crack in the bottom of one of them. Sure enough, a rootlet is starting to poke through! Their status instantly changed from "imperiled" to "protected". Life stirs, silently, slowly.
There's a thorny little question I've been chewing on lately and getting impatient for an answer. Somehow seeing that crack in the avocado seed gave me hope.
Friday, December 14, 2007
Wednesday, December 12, 2007
Pethuel
The end of the year is approaching so in my Old Testament reading I'm at the minor prophets. The language is often beautiful and poetic, even though the words to the peoples are quite frightening at times. I have to admit that with my limited historical knowledge (and short memory) I often have to grab a commentary to help me understand exactly to whom the prophets were speaking and what the context is.
So the other day I was reading Keil and Delitzsch's introduction to the book of Joel and came across this little gem:
Joel is distinguished from other men of the same name, which occurs very frequently, by the epithet "son of Pethuel" (which means 'the open-heartedness or sincerity of God").
I got to thinking about that little parenthesis and it just blew me away. Most of us, if asked to describe God, would probably not come up with the term "open-hearted" right off the bat. Pethuel's parents (Joel's grandparents) must have had an experiential knowledge of God's open-heartedness toward them, so much so that they wanted to declare it to the world through their son's name.
Recently I was talking with someone about the scars left in our lives by relationships in which the person's "love" for us is conditional, where their approval is withdrawn or withheld whenever we displease them and we spend a lot of time trying to earn that love back. I think most of us have this experience at some point in our lives because as flawed human beings, our love is also flawed. To even come up with the idea of a love that never fails seems to me to simply be outside the realm of probability, given our own experiences.
So that brings me back to Pethuel's parents. I am consumed with curiosity to know what they experienced about God's open-heartedness and sincerity. Certainly some significant event or insight must have made them want to declare it to the world through their son's name. And certainly we, who celebrate God's open-heartedness demonstrated at Bethlehem, have reason to rejoice and be open-hearted and sincere ourselves. I want to be a Pethuel, too!
So the other day I was reading Keil and Delitzsch's introduction to the book of Joel and came across this little gem:
Joel is distinguished from other men of the same name, which occurs very frequently, by the epithet "son of Pethuel" (which means 'the open-heartedness or sincerity of God").
I got to thinking about that little parenthesis and it just blew me away. Most of us, if asked to describe God, would probably not come up with the term "open-hearted" right off the bat. Pethuel's parents (Joel's grandparents) must have had an experiential knowledge of God's open-heartedness toward them, so much so that they wanted to declare it to the world through their son's name.
Recently I was talking with someone about the scars left in our lives by relationships in which the person's "love" for us is conditional, where their approval is withdrawn or withheld whenever we displease them and we spend a lot of time trying to earn that love back. I think most of us have this experience at some point in our lives because as flawed human beings, our love is also flawed. To even come up with the idea of a love that never fails seems to me to simply be outside the realm of probability, given our own experiences.
So that brings me back to Pethuel's parents. I am consumed with curiosity to know what they experienced about God's open-heartedness and sincerity. Certainly some significant event or insight must have made them want to declare it to the world through their son's name. And certainly we, who celebrate God's open-heartedness demonstrated at Bethlehem, have reason to rejoice and be open-hearted and sincere ourselves. I want to be a Pethuel, too!
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Lessons from a Pot
Shortly before we moved, our friends, the Bayless', gave us an enormous and very beautiful glazed ceramic pot. This pot is big enough for a tree and must weight close to 80 lbs. Google obligingly moved it out to California with all our other stuff and on arrival we manhandled it out onto our balcony. Even before the boxes were all unpacked I went in search of the perfect occupant for this pot. I knew I wanted a citrus tree of some kind and was delighted to find a lemon tree appropriately called a "Meyer lemon". I brought it home, poured in several bags of potting soil and planted my new little tree. After studying it for a few days it's shrub-like appearance began to bother me so I took matters into my own hands and pruned it, judiciously I hoped, but with some trepidation as I have never owned a citrus tree. Now it looked more like a tree anyway.
About a month later, as if to announce to the world that it found it's new pot to its liking, the tree began to sprout flower buds. Not just a few here and there but enormous clusters of blossoms at the end of every branch I hadn't lopped off. I, of course, watched this development with growing delight but one problem niggled at my brain. Pollination. There are myriad citrus trees in yards all around us that are heavy with fruit so I knew there had to be some pollinators out there. But would they find my diminutive little tree in the sea of concrete that makes up our complex? The balcony is only 6 feet wide with a 7 foot concrete wall around it. I figured if worse came to worst, I could pollinate the blossoms with a brush but hoped that some insect would find it, even though insects are rather rare out here ("no bugs!" is the mantra of everyone who moves here from the Midwest).
I was sitting at the kitchen table sewing the other day when something on the balcony caught my eye. A beautiful green hummingbird was flitting (is there any other word to describe a hummingbird's flight?) around the lemon tree! He worked the blossoms quickly, darting from branch to branch, then zoomed away over the wall. Aha, I thought - Mother Nature wins again! I wasn't sure if a hummingbird's visit would pollinate the blossoms but it was a hopeful sign.
Yesterday I was having lunch and reading a book out on the balcony, basking in the sunshine. Mentally I was miles away in rural England but a familiar noise began to penetrate my brain and brought me back to California. I looked at the lemon tree next to me and there was a BEE! Not just one but three beautiful bees, busily working every blossom on my tree. What a welcome sight! I looked at them closely and sure enough, they were plain old honeybees, Apis mellifera. Either there are feral colonies of bees out here or someone within a few miles of here has beehives. Each little bee was wearing his yellow pollen pantaloons and now I KNOW that my blossoms have been pollinated. What joy. I could have hugged them, blessed little bees that reminded me of home.
So even amidst the concrete and asphalt with only tiny, manicured yards and no wild spots where nature is allowed to run rampant, God's creatures prevail. I'm blessed to witness it and learning to keep my eyes open for the wonder of it. Thanks for the pot that is teaching me, Tom and Tee!
About a month later, as if to announce to the world that it found it's new pot to its liking, the tree began to sprout flower buds. Not just a few here and there but enormous clusters of blossoms at the end of every branch I hadn't lopped off. I, of course, watched this development with growing delight but one problem niggled at my brain. Pollination. There are myriad citrus trees in yards all around us that are heavy with fruit so I knew there had to be some pollinators out there. But would they find my diminutive little tree in the sea of concrete that makes up our complex? The balcony is only 6 feet wide with a 7 foot concrete wall around it. I figured if worse came to worst, I could pollinate the blossoms with a brush but hoped that some insect would find it, even though insects are rather rare out here ("no bugs!" is the mantra of everyone who moves here from the Midwest).
I was sitting at the kitchen table sewing the other day when something on the balcony caught my eye. A beautiful green hummingbird was flitting (is there any other word to describe a hummingbird's flight?) around the lemon tree! He worked the blossoms quickly, darting from branch to branch, then zoomed away over the wall. Aha, I thought - Mother Nature wins again! I wasn't sure if a hummingbird's visit would pollinate the blossoms but it was a hopeful sign.
Yesterday I was having lunch and reading a book out on the balcony, basking in the sunshine. Mentally I was miles away in rural England but a familiar noise began to penetrate my brain and brought me back to California. I looked at the lemon tree next to me and there was a BEE! Not just one but three beautiful bees, busily working every blossom on my tree. What a welcome sight! I looked at them closely and sure enough, they were plain old honeybees, Apis mellifera. Either there are feral colonies of bees out here or someone within a few miles of here has beehives. Each little bee was wearing his yellow pollen pantaloons and now I KNOW that my blossoms have been pollinated. What joy. I could have hugged them, blessed little bees that reminded me of home.
So even amidst the concrete and asphalt with only tiny, manicured yards and no wild spots where nature is allowed to run rampant, God's creatures prevail. I'm blessed to witness it and learning to keep my eyes open for the wonder of it. Thanks for the pot that is teaching me, Tom and Tee!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)