Opening Love and other Green Vegetables

My childhood home. Wisdom takes a seat with littlest one. Anticipating with wide eyes the stack before her.

Natures delight waiting to do more than hang on limbs.  Exploding with color to the taste buds they cry.

And the two sit at ancestors table. The one I hid peas under when I was so little….rebellious.

Yet, generations redeem themselves.

……like plants on a vine….growing stronger…..more capable year after year.

And wonder overcomes me like a wave…..How littlest one can so relate with someone half a century and a decade past her age.

Yet, love cannot be contained….

In time.  Age. The color of one’s skin.

Love…transcends all.  The only thing stable. Worthy.  Worth holding onto…in the end.

And unlike so many other times where words shatter moments.  This time…it’s clear..no words are necessary.

So, I take well worn tongue.  Sit my tired soul down and with grace eyes….just watch.

The teacher and the student. 

My littlest Light Bulb hungry for fuel.
                Knowledge.
                                 Understanding.
                                                 A way to crack open the secrets of time.
                                                                    Cocoons of love hiding tiny balls of sweetness made just for her.

And patience takes his stand.
                And Wisdom once again, pours forth from gentle, hard working, well worn hands.
                                                 And the years shed off as they teach.
                                                                     The pain of life’s days awake with the student wanting.
                                                                                                                 Sitting……Listening for instruction.

And I hear how to open goodness.

Wait.

Resist the temptation to rip apart….tare away as the package hiding deliciousness escapes.

But Little One gets eager.  And I see her fidget. Anticipate the taste…of just one morsel of sweet remembrance.

Yet, she learns.  

And grows from his voice blended perfectly with silk and strength.

……Just like the centers of the pod that wait patiently for their time through growth in rain…

And the Sun/Son that feeds them all.

And I marvel that with t.v. and computers and all the distractions in our world….two so distant can grow and learn and just “be”.

…..Marveling at the makings of His pod.

And then they find them.  Wee ones.  And patiently count them.

Like the blessings that await the discovery of our souls. 

And instead of devouring them….

Wise one treats them as if gentle, grace filled masterpieces…..touched by the very hand of God.

And I see the difference between them.  One careful. Thoughtful.  Seeks out treasure with patience. While the other hurries to only taste.

…..Yet, the younger learns from the older.

And how blessed are we too….when we can stop. 
                                          Listen.
                                                    Learn from wisdom’s chorus sung before we knew what notes were.

And I thank Him…

For time not rushed.
                          
For the marvel of His wondrous love.
                                              
And for the grace to see…

His Hand.

Gentle.  Patient.  Carefully….Opening love.

Like a pea in its pod.  With timing and trust…

In the same way….His most beautiful, undeserved, perfect grace….

Opens us.