Margins

The sun shines brightly, beckoning me to come and play, belying the near freezing temperature. It's been raining for days and the gloom has begun to seep into my soul, so I find this a welcome invitation. Pulling on my coat hat. gloves, and boots, I venture outdoors to discover.

My eyes gaze along the edge of the field in search land of objects of interest. They land on a slender stalk with the tiniest red-brown seeds clustered near the top. The plant itself looks fairly nondescript from a distance, but zooming in I discover beauty in the details. Each elliptical pod bears deep brown veins on its variegated surface along with a layer of tiny white hairs.

The treasures of winter are not often found among beautifully manicured landscapes. When I set out to explore, I go in search of the margins - the lonely, abandoned places have the most to offer. The unkempt roadside, an empty lot, abandoned piles or pits of dist-usually places with poor soil that have endured the scorching summer sun and have produced seed in spite of it.

I ponder the implications for my own heart. Life often has roadside seasons where we feel forgotten, where the heat of suffering reveals the poor soil we are planted in. The stress and strain leave us in desperate search of life; so our roots grow deeper in the process. Who could imagine that fruit would be produced in such a place?