I come in little things,
Saith The Lord:
Not borne on morning wings
Of majesty, but I have set my feet
Amidst the delicate and bladed wheat
That springs triumphant in the furrowed sod.
There do I dwell in weakness and in power;
Not broken or divided, saith our God!
In your strait garden plot I come to flower:
About your porch My Vine
Meek, fruitful doth entwine;
Waits at the threshold, Love’s appointed hour.
Easter Day and the white trumpets of Arum Lilies announce at the altar that “Christ is risen!” Whilst the other lilies reply “He is risen indeed.”
Well I am more akin to a daisy than a Lily, but this poem speaks to me.
First, I count myself with the wheat, “unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed,” Jesus said and The Lord of Glory was that grain of wheat; and in His falling is our triumphant springing up.
Then, I am so small, so weak, but God deals with so gently with us, stooping so tenderly matching His power and strength to our frailty.
Then The Lord remains unbroken and undivided, completely whole and Holy, so differently other to our squabbling, divided churches.
He comes into our lives to flower; not one of us can approach His throne and boast, but He comes to us, about our hearts the True Vine entwines and waits- which of us can be so cold to keep Love waiting?
I sigh. I am not tall, graceful as the Lily. But, I am the most expensive of daisies, bought with the Blood of the King of Kings. I am not fit to be a jewel for His crown, but thrilled to have a place with the delicate, bladed wheat, and the daisies that tickle His feet, to be loved by God who comes in little things.
Christ is risen?