How the Wildflowers Grow

How the Wildflowers Grow
by Melissa Campbell

Faces beaming, soaking Son
Drenched with healing, victory won
Breaking open, reaching, free
Shouting praise jubilantly

Joy awakening, colors bloom
Smearing fragrance, gleaning truth
Weeping tears to flow as springs
  Rain-washed petals behold their King

Beauty graceful, wings on Wind
Whirling, twirling, resting again
Daring to hope, dreaming bold dreams
Declaring dominion in holy decree

Women rising, daughters, sisters, moms
Seeing, being, peaceful balm
Rainbows reaching, hover low
Announcing freedom, proclaiming hope

Oh, taste and see the beauty
Give glory to the King
The wildflowers grow lovely
As they laugh and dance and sing

“Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass of the field, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you of little faith." ~ Luke 12:27-28 (NIV)

I wrote this after spending a weekend with an army of beautiful daughters of God, all wildflowers blooming into maturity,  "spunky"  and bold.  I give thanks to the women from Church at the Heights who organized the conference, and all my sisters who boldly shared their beauty, and special thanks to our speaker, J. Lee Grady, who carries and imparts the Father's heart for His girls. 

Photo Credit:  Olgierd Pstrykotworca (flickr)

Show Me Your Face

There exists a mystery in the world, and in all the looks of it-a mystery because of a meaning. There is a jubilance in every sunrise, a sober sadness in every sunset. There is a whispering of strange secrets in the wind of the twilight, and an unknown bliss in the song of the lark.

All nature, from the mountains to the sea to the fog that hangs so low on the hills, the heather in August, the hot, the cold, the rain - everything speaks, like the flower, messages from God, the Father of the universe.  The beautiful things around us are the expressions of God’s face, or as in Faust, the garment whereby we see the deity. 

~ Excerpts from "Discovering the Character of God"  by George MacDonald

Perilous days surround us.  Fear crouches low at the door of our hearts and minds, convulsing with its ache to pummel cruelty, smash us mercilessly to the floor.  Do we yield, frightened, to the roar of raging storms?  Do we cower,  frozen silent, and our faith lukewarm?

The earth groans.  Nations shake.  Kings and kingdoms break like cracks in the dirt, topple, tumble helpless into the jowls of history.  While chaos abounds, media seduces, entices, entertains, and the worlds sings us to sleep with lullaby's of vain imagination and false religion.  Is there faith to be found in the earth?  Is there peace?

In the midst of darkness a voice: like the sound of many waters, she cries for mercy.  The bride weeps with her groom.  She sees with clarity and compassion a world gone crazy, flailing wild in grief and anger, suffering need.  She bleeds as He does, convinced of this: only love can heal the pain.

And she knows: the mercy she gives will be the same mercy given in her time of need. The world may not deserve it.  But neither did she.

She presses on, soars higher, looks beyond the heavy loom of storm clouds hovering ominous.  Bold faith stretches long, batters the night with day.  Light breaks -- she focuses her gaze on the Son.  Strength rises.  Hope dawns.  Healing comes like the rain.  

Listen.  Hear the whisper of breath from another realm, so close it dances delight on the hearts of all who have tasted and seen: He is good! 

We are invited.  We have been shown the way, given white to wear on that great Wedding Day.  We, who can no longer remain earth-bound, must lead on, militantly in love.

Held fast by the Lamb, our lamps burning bright, we lean into the winds, yearning for our heavenly home.  We soar higher, bow lower, pick up our crosses and follow.  Pick up our neighbors and carry them if necessary, love them along the way.

In doing this, we touch the face of God.

Show me Your face, Lord.  Show me Your face.  Then gird up my legs that I might stand in this Holy Place.  Show me your face, Lord, your power and grace.  I [will] make it through the end if I [can] just see your face.

~ lyrics from Show Me Your Face by Don Potter

Photo Credit:  flickr - Jeffrey Pott