How is it that an ethereal quality can somehow find its energy through a concrete object?
Either the process has emerged through my own visual creativity or it exists within the spiritual realm I cannot see.
For whatever reason it begins, hope is empowered within the realm of nature.
When I cannot stand to watch one more news show or read one more Twitter rant, my deck becomes a haven.
When the question of my heart, “How long oh Lord?” is answered only with silence, I retreat to the outdoor sanctuary.
A cardinal cheers me as he calls for his mate from a nearby tree. The squirrel who thinks my deck is his dining room scampers to retrieve another sunflower seed. Sunset brushes turquoise and coral strokes across the evening canvas.
And my flowers – the Martha Washington geranium I found dying at a nursery in late June now thrives. A reminder that what may appear to be faltering can be revived.
That deep burgundy petal bordered by a creamy outline urges me to cry out in gratitude. God will indeed revive. He will restore.
This bloom, this geranium teaches that hope is not lost even if appearance underscores it to be so. At the core of despair, we can still find life and once nurtured, once tended, life can thrive again.
A lesson for all who are recovering from too much caring of others and not enough nurture of self.
Another flagon of hope waits on my front porch – a treasure found at the end of the plant sales. A turquoise pot filled with coral buds and peachy blooms – the colors of the Southwest I so love.
Each time I turn into my driveway and see this hope-filled pot, I remember the promise I made to myself. “Find a way to visit Santa Fe and Taos.”
To revel in the colors of a land replete with artisans of the earth’s clay. To enjoy the diversity of a demographic where every skin color is not only accepted – but also celebrated.
Hope flows through my plantings and the sounds of nature. No need for prayer when surrounded by God’s art. The Artist himself is here.
And as Abba frames his creative genius with another cinematic sunset, no words describe his color choice, his texture and contrast.
Forget the rest of the world. Let me revel in the hope that flows from the natural world of divine design.
©2017 RJ Thesman
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