Ladder of Mercy

When I see these flowers up agains a white wall, I think, How beautifl.  How striking.  How lovely to have a tiny, tall flower garden.

But I've read recently how much Adam and Eve grieved to see the first leaf die on this earth, and marvel how much we've become accustomed to this leaf-death.  I look at the flowers again, and see the brown this time.  Not just the green, the red, the vibrant black centers. 

I see the fallen red, the red on the ground.  The dead red. 
The dead red that should have been living.

And I think of living green.  Fields of it. 
In heaven, where even the plucked flowers will never fade.  I long to be there.

I've been reading a lot these last few weeks about being ready for heaven, ready to enjoy that living green that far exceeds any spring green we've witnessed on our waxing-old earth.  About learning here to speak Canaan's languae.  I've read how out of place the Christian is in this world, how nobly peculiar we each will be as we follow our Jesus, taking up our crosses.

Isn't any sacrifice worth heaven?  Isn't it always worth dwelling, for example, on the true, the noble, the right, the pure...?  Isn't it worth seeming a little strange to our friends sometimes, strange because we are so ardently seeking our God that we stand out, even dangerously so?

Daniel thought it was worth everything.  His very life.  If he hadn't, he would not have, as a prisoner of the conquering king, requested a different diet from the rest.  He wouldn't have prayed three times every day in front of an open window, knowing full well it was against the law to do so.

And lately, we've been singing--memorizing--songs about heaven.  Songs about how life on this earth is exile from home, but Jesus is coming soon.  And the songs go through my mind all day, and bring my heart more in tune with the longing for home.  The real home.