look at the garden!

These pictures are in upside-down order: 2/Early planting.  1/Today, the cucumbers are overtaking the second bed and the cabbage never balled up... The tiny white asters bloom before the daisies, before the pink blossoms come out on the bush.  

mud in the face

Who was it, I wonder, who discovered the cleansing effects of coating one's body with mud and letting it sit right there and dry and harden and wash it all off again?  In most normal daily activities we would consider mud on the face as dirty, to be avoided in the first place and washed asap.  Nevertheless, I indulge myself a mudding, faithfully, each week.  

The dirt got in my eyes this week.  In the form of a letter to the Philippians in which Paul speaks of his doing vs God's doings in him, as an example of what each of us ought to be, "Not that I...am already perfect, but I press on...because Christ Jesus has made me his own" (3:12).  Whether it's in my personality or my upbringing or merely a part of being human, I find myself tormented and yet passionate about my own perfection.  Be it a good reputation, being known for simple punctuality or blameless in murdering others--those whom I discount as beneath my company--I strive daily for confidence in the flesh.  To what end?  My confidence is dashed on the rocks of Paul's boast, "whatever gain I had, I counted as loss" (3:7).   The pride-happy satisfaction I achieve in works of cultural right-ness will not attain for me the resurrection from the dead.   And if I die like Rover, dead all over, I have failed, I lost the fight, I have nothing, not a thing to show for all my self-made veneer of goodness.  

What help is there, what mud will cleanse me free me of the blemish that is my self-mutilation of good works by pride?  Somehow, "it is God who works in you, both to will and to work for his good pleasure;" I must "be poured out as a drink offering;" I must lose everything to "gain Christ and be found in him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law"--and to think how many laws I make for myself and judge others by--"but that which comes through faith in Christ" (2:13,17, 3:8-10).   It's the power of his resurrection that I want, not my own flesh-zeal, his sufferings I must find in common with him, as he works by faith and patience in the spirit of a man, to revive him from among the dead, and into his glorious body.

It Came Today

Beau's headstone.  

Mom had stopped by the cemetary a few weeks ago for a quick visit and mentioned that the headstone was not there yet.  So after a quick call to Sally, who by the way is the most wonderful funeral director/manager in the world, phone calls were made and answers were quickly at hand.  Sally sent the photos for us look over and we are pleased at how the design turned out.

Admittedly, there is something odd at looking at your son's headstone.  I can't really say that I ever imagined ever doing that. . . but then again, we often do many things we never would have imagined doing.  

I placed the picture on the frig, as if it were something Beau had made in school and brought home.  I am not sure if that is weird or not, but the picture offers something that is tangible.  Something that offers proof as to the reality of his being in our lives. . . Something I really need.

(Note: The pic is not of his new headstone, this pic was taken back in January)