"Do it again," begs the child who has found delight in some game. "Do it again!"

G. K. Chesterton suggested this child's enthusiasm might reveal something about God.  Perhaps, "God says every morning, 'Do it again' to the sun; and every evening, 'Do it again' to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes every daisy alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them."

God has not gotten tired of making Texas Bluebonnets this year -

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they are blooming profusely on every roadside.  Jan and I spent the afternoon of Easter Sunday driving through the countryside, savoring the beauty of bluebonnets and buttercups, Mexican hats and Indian paintbrush. 

I like that image of God calling each day to the sun, "Do it again!"  Each day is called forth by God's delight.  Each glowing sunrise, each sparkling night is born from the Holy One's enthusiasm for beauty, for adventure, for life.

And the world responds to God's call.  Writing about birds awaking at dawn, Thomas Merton said, "The most wonderful moment of the day is that when creation in its innocence asks permission to 'be' once again, as it did on the first morning that ever was."

"Do it again," calls God to the sun, taking the same delight in sunrise as on the first morning that ever was.  The birds, said Merton, respond first not with fluent song but a whispered question, asking if it is again time for them to come to life.  God answers, "Yes."  "Then they one by one wake up and become birds.  They manifest themselves as birds, beginning to sing.  Presently they will be fully themselves, and will even fly."

Each morning God says, "Do it again!"  May we respond each day with an echo of God's enthusiasm, awakening and blossoming to be fully ourselves.  Some days we may even fly. 

                                                                          - Bill 

 

Sources:

       We call these beloved wildflowers "buttercups" (although not true buttercups) and as children, we used to giggle when powdered with the butter-colored pollen from sniffing the buttercup too close. We always enjoyed them at Easter time. I remember hunting for Easter eggs among the clumps of pink buttercups. To us, they were our Easter lilies.

     "Consider the lilies of the field...."

     Last Sunday Bill and I went to a new class at church where we met Jason and his three friends. He explained that they live on the porch and that the church has been very kind to them. During the day they keep the place cleaned up, he said with assurance and appreciation.

     While we were waiting for the class to begin and before anyone else came into the room, Jason opened a bible which he proudly showed us. It was a pocket size with a flexible black cover and clean white edges. He said someone left it on his face Easter morning. He opened the bible and read from a paragraph that had been underlined, beginning with "So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow.... Seek first the kingdom of heaven...." Jason talked about his new-found trust in Jesus Christ and the welcome home he found on the porch.

     When the buttercups open their round faces toward the sky perhaps they too look toward the kingdom of heaven. Thank you, Jason, for reminding me where to look. Every morning.

                                                                                     --by Jan