Thriving...in Spite of It

I have a number of flowering vines, deliberately planted, and innumerable wild ones populating the backyard and prayer trail beyond it. I am fascinated by their very determined twining and stretching, in spite of barriers, dry places, and competition for soil… But there are two such vines that struck me this morning because of the disparity in their growth.  One—a climbing hydrangea—has yet to live up to its name. It’s not the vine’s fault. I had just assumed it would climb up the wall, so I’ve given it nothing to cling to. One year later, it’s still more like a meager little bush, evidently stunted in its growth for lack of a trellis.  The other one, on the other hand—a Mandevilla—has twined itself tightly onto the trellis I gave it, intricately and inseparably weaving through its sturdy iron structure over and over, back and forth. If ever there was an image of a living thing clinging to something, this is it.  As we live and grow, we need something strong, steady, and ...

What does hope have to do with courage?  I got the answer from a bumblebee.  Just a few feet away from me, an imminent threat to some, he hovers around the lavender this morning, tediously but persistently checking each tiny blossom for pollen. I move to pick up my coffee mug; he dodges ever so slightly, then returns to his task, inching closer and closer to where I sit as he works his way down the row.  It’s not that he’s careless of or oblivious to danger; he is just more determined than his instinctive and fully justifiable fears to secure what he needs in spite of them. Many of the blooms have dried or fallen, but he persists in checking each one anyway, driven by a minuscule possibility that there still might be something left. He hopes. He is driven by hope. His hope gives him courage to persist. And as he persists, courageously, he is rewarded by finding the occasional prize. Because of his courage, he finds more reason to hope.  So hope and courage flow in an...

I start every morning on the back porch with a cup of coffee and my Bible. Even though I live in the suburbs, there is no shortage of wildlife activity at that time of day (and I'm not talking about the neighborhood party animals dragging themselves home).  While a squirrel and bluejay engage in their daily skirmish on top of the fence, squabbling over whatever tidbit the squirrel has just found, birdsongs fill the trees. Occasionally, one of them will come out his cover and find a perch on a nearby rooftop, so he can maximize his volume well enough to irritate even the soundest sleeping  of all the snoozing teenagers on the block. It's a cheerful setting. Over the past few weeks, though, my curiosity began to grow. Whenever I heard a bird singing, I would wonder, is that the robin, or the cardinal? Or is it the mockingbird, imitating one or both of them?  The App Store is a wonderful thing...almost as wonderful as Wikipedia ;) In the modern style of self-educ...