Somewhere a timer reached its setpoint. It started the fountain. My smooth water is being ruined as the ripples spread. My silence is broken. My icy water? My silence? Ok, Lord, it is not all about me. The fish need the aeration and people need the beauty of the fountain, but still…
Oh, my God, you have painted a brilliant red all across the horizon. Those few bird chirps are now a chorus. Are they singing your praises, too? Or are they competing with each other, trying to have their voice be heard? Yet I feel you can hear them each, while hearing them all.
How can I serve you? Am I a noisy chirp among many chirpers? No, I think you do hear my voice, and all those others. How do I hear your voice?
Yesterday another retreatant shared with me a parable of a flower. It might have been the flower right here beside me. The flower is doing what a flower does. It is praising you by being all it is meant to be. But that particular flower did not fall as a seed from its mother flower and grow in this place. Someone dug it up and placed it here. Placed it here against its will, if a plant has a will. Yet it is blooming as it is created to do in the place that it was planted. Are you speaking to me?
All plants don’t thrive where they are planted. They don’t have enough sun, or water, or nutrients. Why is this flower so beautiful? Oh, there is the gardener. She has the watering hose, giving the plants a drink. You provide life and sustenance through your people. Are you speaking to me? Looking back, it is easy to see how abundantly you have provided.
How are you speaking to me now?
You are in the simple things.
You provide the color in my life.
It is not about me.
You hear my voice. Every voice is special to you.
Being who I am is what I am called to be. Sometimes I may be a garden worker, but sometimes I may be the plant.
My place to grow may not be my choosing, but I can grow because you provide for me wherever I am.
Your sun came up. There is no darkness anywhere. Your Son rose up, and there is no darkness anywhere.
Thank you, Lord.
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AUTHOR: DEACON BOB MCCLELLAN
Deacon Bob McClellan ministers at Corpus Christi Parish and to inmates at the Pottawattamie County Jail, while employed as Director of Operations at St. Vincent de Paul Parish in Omaha. He and his wife, Peggy, are Council Bluffs natives, and enjoy family, kayaking, camping and the mountains when they get the chance.