Paradisal weather - blue sky, soft breeze, sunny and mild. The kids behave well outside with Stuff to do, Stuff to explore. A popped bag of popcorn lies ripped open - the kids eat the salty-sweet innards, wild beasts around a greasy bag. A face dips in. We are at a picnic table and my side hurts. The reel mower is still. The front yard and the back lot need mowing, but I have no fuel. And my side hurts. And there is popcorn on the table. And I feel hollow inside, like this bag of popcorn, as if Something is missing, a piece of a puzzle - Something inside wants to roam, wants to stay, calls me to peace and war. Something wanting Something. Something pulling at itself to stay put. Something fighting with itself for peace.
Heart of pine, heart of balsa - longing for sterner stuff. Something oakish. Something yew-strong.
I know this wood, soft but strong. Why does it long for something without a name? Groaning after Something named, though terrible, is sufferable. But yearning for this nameless Something - how do I tag It? Wooden heart, structurally strong, building God knows what. Pumping sap into limb and leaf. For life and love.
God is life. God makes and makes and makes - and new wood stretches into old. And old wood stretches into new. And still God makes and makes and makes. He withholds nothing. He gives and gives and gives. He gives without reserve. And His reserves are always full.
My heart finds rest in Thee. It is yew-strong, for God is love.