Winter Squash, Vergil, and Grey Skies

At six this morning, I woke up and made myself a pot of tea. After letting the dogs out, feeding, and cleaning up, I read Vergil. I never fail to be amazed at how the basic human virtues seem to manifest themselves in every age. What a testament it is to God that in this fallen world, He always manages to lead us to the Christ through either the Natural Law or the Revealed Law of the Scriptures. Given, the Natural Law can never get us there entirely, for "how shall they hear without a preacher?" But certainly the sense of brotherhood I sense with the ancient heroes of Troy, or Rome, or a dozen other places, exceeds that which I sense with some of my neighbors with whom I share baptism. I surmize that God has written into the human heart a basic nobility which reflects his own image. It may be covered, and even damaged by sin, but so often it has blazed forth in the most unlikely places. It assures us that while we may be barbarians, we are still loved of God, and in His grace and mercy, he calls us all to a higher way through every culture that he has allowed to exist and develop in all of history. It only remains to us to see our finest yearnings brought to fullness as they are completed in Jesus Christ, who is the original virtue, and is indeed the "Author and Finisher of our faith."

After returning home from work today, I gathered the winter squash and put them in the cellar. It seems like they have been growing and twining for so long. A couple of unseasonable weeks early in the spring caused me to wonder whether they would grow to maturity. Today's harvest proved the foolishness of that fear. I suppose it is the same with us. Like Harry the King, it is a good thing that God does not judge us by the promise of our younger days. His grace is so benificent, His prophetic ability so absolute, that He allows us to seemingly perish in the unseasonable times of our rebellion. And then He comes in splendor to transform us into the image of His Son. We are truly blessed.

For several days now, the rain has been intermittent in our part of the world. Earlier in the week, I planted around twenty five or thirty various pine and spruce trees. Hopefully all of them are stiff enough and pungent enough to dissuade the deer and my beloved pony from seeing them as dessert. One day, they will shield our home from any trace of human habitation apart from our family, and they should provide a wonderful cover for the deer, bird, and rabbit population hereabouts. But they cannot grow without rain. And so even if I cannot till the garden today, I rest in the knowledge that my trees will grow with the rain that God has provided.

And so once again God has provided for all my needs. He has led me to Christ. He has allowed and enabled me to grow beyond the rashness of my youth. He has watered the trees and caused the desert to flourish like a garden. Surely he is good to me, and to all those whom he has called to be His own. And truly his rain, and all of His blessings, fall on the just and on the unjust alike. Oh, that we might have eyes to see, and hearts to appreciate His love and provision for us.