“Catch the foxes for us, the little foxes that spoil the vineyards, for our vineyards are in blossom.”
The Song of Solomon 2:15 ESV
Cold in a way I had no idea, I removed the soft heavy blanket and because the birds had begun to sing, I turned and saw the sky behind me, bright with pink.
Longing to see more and to see with a more private view I ventured to the backyard.
Bare feet on crunchy frozen grass, my steps became a dance and rather than staring towards the sky I became captivated by the camellias.
Pink, I decide is the color of vibrance and optimism. Some petalled balls fallen from the branches and in varying stages of change, some clinging gloriously and a few yet to bloom.
I pray we don’t get the icy days we southerners disdain.
I pray the terminal frost that curtails the continued growth stays away.
Because, the camellias this winter have blossomed in grander and more undeniable ways.
Or is it my notice that has changed?
Has a sense of hopeful curiosity begun to enlighten my belief?
Changing doubtful speculation to committed curiosity over things that might finally be?
Things I believe are for me, abilities and opportunities designed by God.
I am beginning to trust it might be, that I will see.
Jesus has seen me and is pleased in my growing understanding of Him.
Mercy is becoming more than “Christiany” expression tacked on in hopes to gain acceptance.
Mercy, I am finally seeing.
Is for me.
Jesus, leaving Jericho heard the desperate cries of two blind men sitting on the side of the road.
Their sense of hearing compensated for their inability to see and so, they cried out loudly to Jesus asking for mercy. The crowds chastised them, these pitiful men positioned on their way.
How dare they ask to be seen, much less to be able to see?
Have you felt this way?
Felt that according to God and to others, you should stay in your place, why on earth would you believe there could be grander things to see?
The blind men must have been desperate, must have been shouting.
Jesus paused for them.
He asked them what it was they needed.
Jesus wanted to hear their deepest need.
“And stopping, Jesus called them and said, “What do you want me to do for you?” They said to him, “Lord, let our eyes be opened.” And Jesus in pity touched their eyes, and immediately they recovered their sight and followed him.”
Matthew 20:32-34 ESV
Yesterday, I sat anchored by weighted rice bags on my abdomen and thighs, the sense of settled safety, I was seeking.
I joined in my friend’s “Midweek Mindfulness” and loosened up the places where my stress had made its abode.
Anchored and waiting, eyes closed in meditation, I struggled to be still, to stay composed.
Surely, this will soon be over, I don’t know how much longer I can hold this pose and I can’t think of a single additional thing to let go and I’ve prayed my prayers and I’ve focused my focus…
Then she begins to speak of curiosity and I naively conclude she’s done this solely for me.
It actually could be.
I listen and decide curiosity is a worthy mindset, not one curtailed by pessimism or conclusions to my stories, rather a careful and hopeful, continuous pursuit.
The blind men could have chosen what they’d always chosen, likely just being careful to stay out of the way
Instead they decided to be brave, to be curious about Jesus and to give new sights a try.
This morning beckoned me out onto the cold January ground and led me to see beauty, not only in the morning sun but in the blooms fallen and fading making way for new.
I get emotional over a couple of lines in a pretty song. The voice is captivating, tender and true.
She makes a quiet and sure proclamation over her soul and unknowingly, mine.
She sings, “the foxes in the vineyard will not steal my joy!”
It is a tender song, inspired by the verses from the Song of Solomon, a book that reads like poetry, sonnets and splendidly passionate love.
What are the “foxes” in your vineyard? What present or past or based on your own predictions is set on stealing the joy you’ve begun to get a tiny taste of?
Exchange the sly intentions of the evil one committed to keeping you back for the mercy of the merciful one who asks.
What do you want me to do for you? Jesus
Speak of your need despite others silencing your curiosity.
Believe mercy will always meet it, always meet you.
Lift your eyes to the hills.
Your help will come.
Continue and believe.
I’m linking up with other writers at Tell His Story. https://marygeisen.com/in-the-middle-of-winter-guest-post/