Over my computer is a watercolor of the house across the
street. My late mother-in-law, Libby, painted it in her old age, from a photo
I’d taken one golden fall evening. A flag flutters in the shadows above a
picket fence. The white house is trimmed with red striped awnings over two
small front windows.

She entered it in a regional amateur art contest. She often
won ribbons in these competitions, but this painting was unadorned when we
picked it up. We sat down, waiting for the judge, who was giving feedback. When
she approached us, Libby asked, “What did you think of my work?”

Sitting down next to us, she studied the canvas. “This line
of white is sharp,” she said, pointing to the house’s edge, clearly defined
against the darker background.

Libby said, “Of course it’s sharp, it’s the edge of the
house.”

She had taken up watercolor after she retired from teaching at
70. She had a library of technique books and logged many class hours. At 80
years old, Libby knew what she knew and recognized nonsense when she heard it.

I often defer to perceived experts. Libby didn’t. She saw
the nonsense masquerading as wisdom. Nonsense permeates our society. Young
girls exposing their bodies in the name of fashion. Mortgaging our
grandchildren’s future in our consumerist culture. Encouraging an “eat, drink,
and be merry” ethos in our media. We need, like Libby, to “know what we know”
so we can stand against the nonsense.

Father, always,
continually, and forever, we need wisdom.

There’s a new house in the neighborhood. With a one-man construction crew, the progress is slow. Finally, he installed the door and the siding. Two stories, with lots of paned windows and a wide front porch, it is a simple style that fits the modest neighborhood. I do wish, though, the siding and the door were not shades of beige.   

Spoken by someone whose house is gray trimmed with fuchsia. The dull-colored house is several blocks away. Thankfully, I don’t see it often. Does he feel safer with beige? I don’t begrudge him that. I need to feel safe, too. But color enlivens me. And God doesn’t care—he likes us both.

Do you like pastels, or jewel tones? Ruffles or tailored suits? Chains and leather or lace and linen? Our external preferences don’t matter to God; what matters is our inner self. Are our hearts soft, our eyes clear, our minds the mind of Christ? Does God even see the beige or the fuchsia?

When the prophet Samuel went to see Jesse to anoint the next king of Israel, the prophet sees Jesse’s son, Eliab, a man of impressive appearance and height. But he is not the one. God says to Samuel, “People look on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks at the heart.” (I Samuel, 16:7, Net)

This neighbor has a beige house—that’s all I know, and truthfully, all I care about. God knows the color of the man’s home; but God’s focus is the man’s heart.   

Father, I confess my preoccupation with externals. I need your forgiveness. Thank you that you deal with truth in our innermost parts.

On my morning walks, when I pass the California and Grove street corner,
I remember the yellow tulips. One spring fifteen years ago, where the sidewalks meet, dozens
of bright cups of color stood. The fall before, someone dug holes and carefully
placed wrinkled bulbs. After a long wait through the cold, the spring warmth nurtured
the bulbs into blooms. That year, they must have matched the pictures in the
catalog. Every gardener knows how rarely that happens. Ordinary gardeners in imperfect
conditions can’t match the professionals.

But those tulips met expectations. They spoke of God’s perfection.
God is no ordinary gardener. Though we are undisciplined children, he is
capable of bringing us to perfection. We may feel like wrinkled bulbs, rotting
underground. He, however, knows we are flower bulbs, waiting for the warmth and
water, which he will provide.

Are we struggling with eating? Are we grieving a loss? Are we
screaming at our preschoolers? Whatever darkens our hearts, we can hope for God’s
springtime. God will send his light, as we keep straining towards it.

But it won’t always be a strain. The perfect kingdom is
coming. The tulips speak.

Father, please give us ears to hear and grace to respond.