By Davalynn Spencer @davalynnspencer
My yard is bursting this summer with color and perfume—from lavender and mint to giant sunflowers, petunias, coneflowers, and zinnias. I delight in checking them each morning as I water before the sun beats down on our southern Colorado home, and again each evening on those really hot days.
I spend so much time with these plants, tending and caring for them, that when an interloper pops up, I can spot it at twenty paces. Like the elm sapling in the image above snuggled in between the alyssum and marigolds.
In the herb garden, weeds wend up among the German thyme, blending right in as if they belong. I see them, but they are so interlaced with the herb that it is often a risk to pull them without damaging the good plant. These weeds will be easy to separate at the harvest, much like Jesus’ story about the wheat and the tares (Matthew 13:24-30; 36-43).
It’s often hard to believe and even more distressing to discover that some people are just like the weeds in my garden. They masquerade as God-lovers, worshippers, and children in His kingdom, but in truth they are not.
They may even serve or work for the Lord. But do they follow Him and acknowledge that He is sovereign in their lives?
Jesus tells us that in the last days many will say, We did these things in Your Name, and He will respond, “I never knew you” (Matthew 7:21-23).
That’s because they didn’t meet with Him in prayer. He never heard their worship, never saw the release of their hearts from grasping fingers into His open hands. Jesus never heard them cry out to Him for life.
Thank God, that as the creator of the tallest tree and most delicate flower, He sees our hearts, hears our cry, and loves us with unfailing faithfulness. He knows His own and is never fooled.
The Lord knows those who are His.
2 Timothy 2:19
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The figure backed into shadow and Eli waited. In a moment, the person stepped off the porch and headed west, slowly descending toward the corrals and definitely not stumbling along in a skin-tight skirt. He left the quad and walked in the opposite direction, across the yard on the east side of his house, keeping the hill in view. Whoever it was didn’t go to the corrals and instead cut back down an overgrown path that angled toward the bottom pasture.
He stopped next to a tree, confident that his dull clothing blended in with the colorless bark. The reflexive thought surprised him. Irritated him. This wasn’t Afghanistan. He stood on his own property with every right in the world to be there. But he couldn’t shake the training. He’d rather see than be seen.
The figure wore a ball cap but didn’t walk like a man. Had to be that woman—the realtor—smart enough to change her clothes before hiking across the pasture. He watched her saunter down, pause and look up toward the house, then continue on. Had to be headed to the well. Maybe checking the fence.
At the bottom, she picked up her pace and beat a straight line to the property’s southeast corner. Each silent, distant step hammered through him. Only one other person knew about that corner and the significance of what it held. ~The Miracle Tree
Inspirational Western Romance – where the hero is heroic.
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