Loving Endeavors

Each passing week seems like an entire year's worth of ripening. The fragile shell is aggravated by the harsh elements and is broken, torn, burned, pulled and pinched. Even so, beyond the fragile shell stands a barrier of protective muscle that fights against each affliction. Through the open wounds seeps fear and is carried to the power house, the life-source, the heart. It's there where fear is circulated and processed through each valve and ventricle and depleted of the waste to pump back out with intense power to refuel the shell with zeal and passion to continue protecting and ripening that which is most important. The heart.

My heart hasn't failed me yet and am I ever so grateful. Yet it's endearing whisper is often times hushed by the combative shell surrounding it, denying it's childlike spirit, jokes and games, beauty, and zeal for life and love. Keep flowing heart. One day your shell will ripen and gush with sweet juices from the labor of your loving endeavors.

The sun rises every morning. I do not rise every morning;

but the variation is due not to my activity, but to my inaction. 

Now, to put the matter in a popular phrase, it might be true that

the sun rises regularly because he never gets tired of rising. 

His routine might be due, not to a lifelessness, but to a rush

of life. The thing I mean can be seen, for instance, in children,

when they find some game or joke that they specially enjoy. A child

kicks his legs rhythmically through excess, not absence, of life. 

Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit

fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. 

They always say, "Do it again"; and the grown-up person does it

again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong 

enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough

to exult in monotony. It is possible that 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 all daisies alike;

it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired

of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy;

for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.

 - Chesterton, Orthodoxy