Dew sparkles on the grass and laundry sways in the breeze as I hang the last towel on the clothesline. The twitter of birds and the balmy air plead me to stay outdoors a few more minutes.
I notice the signs of spring in the garden. Delicate white blossoms peek from beneath glossy strawberry leaves. The asparagus spears have grown several inches since yesterday. The spring green in the row of peas uncurl their tendrils toward the sunshine.
In the berry row, petals unfurl. Blueberries, blackberries, raspberries - each plant cradles small blossoms. Each bud bears the promise of future fruit. The garden waits in anticipation.
The stillness is shattered. Startled back to reality, I pick up the laundry basket and hurry indoors to yet another quarrel.
Inside, I negotiate peace between brothers. My daughter whines to wear her favorite dress, buried in the laundry pile. The littlest one sulks over her scrambled eggs.
After correcting their bad attitudes, I find my own attitude faltering. Why can't I enjoy one morning of peace? Though I love my children dearly, I am weary of the immaturity, silliness, grumpiness, and incessant noise. I long to flee back to the garden, where the only sound is winged music, and delight in the springtime growth.
But when I strolled through my garden this morning, I felt no frustration at the lack of fruit. I thrilled at the sight of new growth and anticipate future harvest.
If I find delight in the immature buds in my garden, why am I so impatient with the immaturity I see in my children? Can I see my children as God's work in progress?
Fresh berries are delicious, but nothing compares with God's work in the hearts of His children. I'll tend His garden, pull the weeds, and trust God to bring a harvest of precious souls into His kingdom.