Thursday, April 24, 2008

In All Things

Some years ago, my husband and I purchased a "strip" of marigold seeds to plant alongside our driveway. The soil had to be prepared, then the fiberous material housing the seeds was planted. We eagerly awaited our crop of blossoming plants. Time passed as we watered the soil frequently. One day a friend of ours was visiting us. He looked at the ground where the newly purchased seeds had been deposited. Singling out a very tiny green shoot, he said something like, "Now, that's a marigold plant."

Before long, we had orange-yellow plants running along the edge of the concrete, brightening our lawn. Our friend had been one of the first people to announce their inconspicuous arrival. We were pleased.

I have been praying about something for a long time now. Recently, I have become aware of answers to my requests from God. Today, I was joyous as I discovered yet another aspect of my prayers being answered. Words of thankfulness were on my lips.

After talking to God about this concern for quite a long time, I eagerly awaited the crop of answered prayer. I had planted the seeds of petition in the fertile ground of God's sovereignty. Only He could grow the desires of my heart.

Quite without warning, I had been alerted to another realization that God was indeed listening to my burdened heart. It's as though I had been standing by my barren driveway of concern, looking longingly at the empty soil, hoping to see those first shoots of answered prayer come piercing up from the dirt. Lately, I have become aware of the arrival of several tender green sprouts.

Do I recognize the work of God coming into being when it is surrounded by the distraction of the noise and clutter of the world? Sometimes. Thankfully, today was one of those days. Looking at the spiritual ground where I have safely deposited my requests, I can single out the distinctive shape and color of what is before me and say, "Now, that's an answer to prayer!"

published: 10:21 | 0 comment(s) | Photos with Christian thoughts by Myra Johnson | permalink | edit

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