Dip One Webbed Toe

 

Dip One Webbed Toe

And he said to me, “It is done!  I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.  To the thirsty I will give from the spring of the water of life without payment.”

  Revelation 21:6

 

They were hand-sized fluffs of yellow packed in a small box when we picked them up from our local post office.  Half a dozen ducks poked their heads up when the lid was lifted just to glimpse the world around them and meet the people who would care for them.  They grew fast, made a mess of their small enclosure, and traded their canary fluff for white feathers. 

That’s when we knew it was time to take them to the pond.  We loaded them up among their quacking protests and placed them on the edge of their new home.  And we waited.  And waited.  They toddled along on the water’s edge, they stood in a row looking out at the calm pool, they jabbered with each other, and that was it.  Not one duck dipped an orange webbed toe into the water, not one. 

As we watched them, I couldn’t help but think of us—you and me.  There is life for us promised by our Creator.  It is a life of water that will provide everything we need and allow us to never thirst again.  But, like those ducks, we stand on the water’s edge.  We see all that the land has to offer and we try to fulfill our desires with the things of this earth.  We stuff in more of everything and still, we know that something is missing.  But, like the ducks, we are afraid to take the plunge.

Ducks were made for water.  They are aquatic creations with oily, waterproof feathers that work to keep their skin completely dry.  Their webbed feet have no nerves and cannot feel the cold of icy aquifers.   They are able to see almost 340 degrees around their heads and are known to be extremely alert and difficult to sneak upon.  This knowledge made it hard for me to understand their hesitation.  The same hesitation we have when presented with the choice to follow Christ, to give up our life and give our will over to Him, our Creator.  Our trust in Him sets us free from the bondage of this earth and allows us to exercise His will using all of our talents and the things we were made for to further His kingdom.  But, He never forces us.

Honestly, it was difficult not to force those ducks, not to submerge them ourselves.   Instead, as much as we wanted to see them glide into the water and find the joy of the weightlessness offered by such an environment, we only offered them their freedom.  We also knew it would only take one brave duck to stand out from the others—to test the waters, find them fine, and encourage the others.

The same is true for us.  Jesus told us to be leaders and teach others about the freedom found in the living water provided by God through Jesus, “All authority has been given to Me in heaven and on earth.  Go therefore and make disciples of all the nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, even to the end of the age” (Matthew 28:16-20).  Each day we have the opportunity to live our life in such a way to show those standing on the edge that the spiritual water offers us everything we need here and in eternity.

It is the truth our pristine feathered fowl finally gained once they waddled in the enclosed spring.  They discovered their freedom, fully freed to be who they were created to be. 

My Cup Has Overflowed

We all pray for the blessings, the good stuff, the happy, the easy, the fun.  None of us sign up for the hard, the scary, the painful.  In fact, could we just skip the bad stuff all together?  Could we ask God to remove all the heartache, the death, the destruction, the illness, the loss? 

In Psalm 23, David says, “My cup overflows.” (v. 5) It is embedded in a psalm of praise that also acknowledges the hard things of life.  David highlights his faith in God even when things are not easy.  He acknowledges the Lord’s power to restore his soul, the times of walking through the valley of the shadow of death, evil, and enemies.  From this, we understand that life is full of good and bad.  But David’s use of the words, “My cup overflows,” tells us that he knows that he has good, in fact, more good than he deserves.  Because not only is his cup full, but it has overflowed. 

For all of us coffee drinkers out there, let’s imagine our favorite coffee cup.  There it sits in the cupboard waiting for us each morning.  And imagine that we get it out and look into it right before we pour our coffee and we see some grains of dirt, some specks of darkness in our cup.  We go to the sink and we start running pure, clear water into our cup.  If we continue running the water, soon it will rise to the top and start to overflow the sides, but during that process, what will happen to that old dirt?  It will rise to the top, jostled by the pure water it will also overflow the sides until the water contained in that cup is clean and pure, too.  All the impurities are washed away.

You know that’s what the hard things do for our lives.  They take all the anger, bitterness, vile behavior, hate, jealousy, contempt, corruptness, dishonesty, and on and on, from us IF we let the Lord work in us.  It is the essence of Romans 8:28, “And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.”

God’s powerful love for us takes all the hard things of this world and uses them to make us more pure, more loving, more empathetic.  Or as David says in Psalm 23: restored, anointed, satisfied, comforted, guided, fearless, victorious.  And don’t we want all these things? 

We do.

Thank you, Father, for Your mighty work in our lives.  Let us remember the blessing of an overflowing cup comes from a life filled with walking closely with you through the good AND the bad.  And let us rejoice that even the bad, becomes good, an overflowing cup, when placed in Your hands.

Dig Deeper:

Read Psalm 23

Listen to Jabez sing “Drinking From My Saucer”

Listen to Michael Combs sing “Drinking From My Saucer”

Psalm 23

(A Psalm of David)

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures;

He leads me beside quiet waters.

He restores my soul;

He guides me in paths of righteousness

For His name's sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,

I fear no evil; 

for Thou art with me;

Thy rod and Thy staff,

they comfort me.

Thou dost prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies;

Thou hast anointed my head with oil;

My cup overflows.

Surely goodness and lovingkindness will follow

me all the days of my life,

And I will dwell in the house 

of the Lord forever.

Braiding Grapevines

            I wake in the morning, my bed warm and soft.  The light from the window tells me it is time to press my feet to the cool floor.  I stand and walk through the hallway to my small kitchen.  There on the counter are the beginnings of my work. 

            A dark woven basket filled with dried fruit, wrinkled with only a burst of juice relegated to their middles, the raisins bid to me.  Opposite the basket is my kneading board, made of thick pine, heavy and ready for the heft of bread to be thrown against it over and over.  And there the wire basket empty from yesterday’s work, but ready to be filled with the green eggs laid by my feathered hens while the dew was still on the grass. 

            I stand behind the small bar space.  I run my hand through the flour in the wooden bowl, sifting it gently until my hands are covered in dust.  I smile a glad smile of contentment and thankfulness for this promise of meal.  Wiping my hands gently together, the satin smoothness dropping away, I grab the wire basket, release the latch on the door, and step out on the wood porch of my home.  To the right, a field of short, wide ryegrass glows green in the morning.  The cows low restlessly waiting to be turned out to its juicy delicacy.  They stand near the lake, a murky reflection of life-giving water.  The dirt edge of the lake reveals deep, rich soil turned by the foot of the bovines.  My eyes follow the edge of dark earth around the lake to a hill rising on the other side.  There the grapevine hangs.  My heart lurches with a promise and I silently mark the minutes until I visit the vine, gathering what I need and desire before the day’s end. 

            The tall yellow rooster raises his chest up and out, his startling call sends me scurrying to the egg boxes.  The eggs are resting in the hay, waiting for their miracle of life to pour out into my baking.  They are still warm to my touch making me remember the miracle the Lord provided through a small bird.  Turning back to the house, entering the kitchen, I gently wipe the eggs with a cloth.  Then, begins the process I will repeat again and again.  Today, I make bread of raisins. 

            The dough rises, the kitchen heats and I continue measuring, mixing, rolling, pounding.  This one rises, this one sinks.  This one bakes beautifully and falls from the heat.  This one burns, but this one makes it.  Over and over, a whispered prayer for the work of my hands.

            Soon, I can tarry no longer.  My heart and the empty dark basket bids me out and around the lake to the tendrils of grapevine waiting for me.  I find myself rushing more as I reach the last curve of the lake; a school girl’s bound to my steps.  The air is different here, softer and kinder.  Time slows and I feel the tears prick my eyes.  I drop the basket beneath the large vine and nestle to the ground.

            “Braid the grapevine,” I hear Him say.

            I drop my head because I know I can’t.  My hands are made for baking loaves of bread, my mind is set on the turn of the dough, the texture of the flour, the squish of the raisins.

            Braid the grapevine.  I don’t know how.  My hands are big and careless.  My fingers unprepared and clumsy.  The tendrils taunt me, some so delicate I could crush them, others brittle and easily broken if pressed too hard.

            I wait.  A wind gently stirs the vine, brushing against my cheek it caresses my hands.  I lift them to the vine, taking a large sucker as I feel the power of life course through it, down my hands, and into my arms, gently swirling in my heart the passion to braid grapevines.  I rip my hand away, surely not me.  Maybe someone will come and show me how.  Perhaps a master teacher will guide me as a pupil.  Perhaps the vine will yield to me.

            “Braid the grapevine,” I hear Him say, “Just once today.”

            Just once does not seem too much.  Just once is something I think I can do.  I reach for the vine again, gently pulling softer tendrils around it, a small braid taking form underneath the caress of my fingers.  It is enough.  I stop and gather the fruit that I know I need for many more days of baking bread.

            I turn toward home, stopping once to look back at the vine, the small braid hanging there…waiting.  I turn away for there is always more bread baking.

            Yet, each day with a failed loaf I hear the call from the grapevine.  Braid the grapevine.  So, as I wait for fruit to ready, I make the journey to sit underneath the vine.  I dream of a long braided vine encircling me, but I know that it will take days and days to encourage such a vine out of this tangle.  So, each day I listen and pull together a braid, slowly at first and with much difficulty, then faster and with a dash of zeal.  Soon, my heart can scarcely hold out for loaves and loaves of raisin bread, but presses me on to the grapevine where I braid and braid to my heart’s content. 

            Then, one day I stand near the water’s edge looking up at the vine, its long braided tendril coursing over wooden stakes, along metal wires, drifting down to the ground.  It sways with a gentle breeze waving to me to come as He whispers, “Braid the grapevine.”


*A Vision from the Lord.  I know it's for me, One person, but it must be for you, also.  So, here you go.  One person, braid the grapevine.