The prodigal sprinkler, or the prodigal God

There has been a phenomenon that I have noticed many times this summer here in Evanston, Ill. Here is a picture of an example:

There are many front lawns and patches of grass in this town and virtually all of them are quite small. Yet, for whatever reason, the caretakers of these tiny squares of grass seem to love placing normal-sized sprinklers on them. As you can expect, this makes for funny scenes of humans waiting for an opening to quickly pass by the water that the sprinklers inevitably spray onto walkways. For many, it's a nuisance; for some, it's an occasion for a patient smile.

Does the grass get watered? Yes. Would smaller sprinklers do this too, without watering surrounding walkways and spraying water on passersby? Yes.

This reminded me of God and his people.

It seems to me that I oftentimes find myself believing that God's fount of salvation and redemption in my life is only meant for me, for my improvement, healing and help. But what I fail to realize, in simple terms, is that the outflows of this fount, of its Source, are much larger than I care to perceive.

It also seems to me that this fount is meant just as much for the passersby in my life as for me. For many in this fallen world it will be a cause for curious pity that I should have had such a wasteful sprinkler installed on my lawn, in what they will think to be ignorance and misunderstanding. For others, it will be a plain nuisance. But I trust that for a few it will be cause, at the very least, to pause and smile, and at the very most, to inquire about how to install a sprinkler with a similarly wasteful range and spring of their own.

Concrete and pavement are watered by the sprinkler's wasteful flow,
In hopes that through the cracks, hidden seeds into beautiful flowers will grow.

“Joseph is a fruitful bough,
a fruitful bough by a spring;
his branches run over the wall."
- Genesis 49:22 (ESV)

'Til I only dwell in thee

One thing I love about seeing the ground covered by inches of snow is knowing that the green grass hidden underneath still lives and will be revealed again.

I am yearning for spring.

Mow the Deliberate Whaler

I spent the majority of my Saturday tending to my lawn. While I was mowing, I saw the dad who lives across the street play basketball with his two young sons. He and his family are wealthy, and they pay people to tend to their pretty lawn.

Then this thought crept into my mind: There comes a time, maybe a moment, maybe many moments, when a man decides whether he wants to be a man who mows his own lawn or pays someone to do it for him. Women must decide which of these men they want to partner with.

Maybe that's too broad and untrue, but I believe it.



Thrice - The Whaler

My lover's arms,
they beg me to stay.
But I know the storms,
they will sweep me away.

My daughter's eyes,
they are two tiny seas,
whose water will rise
and then run down her cheeks.

"Father where do you go,
so far out upon the sea,
when are you coming home to me?"
"Darling why do you leave,
as the north wind begins to blow?
Will you be coming home to me?"

The boat and the blade,
they are all that I know;
the sea calls my name,
and so I must go.

And while they still sleep,
I slip out through the door;
but how can I leave,
with my anchors ashore?

"Father where do you go?
It's farther than I can see,
when are you coming home to me?"
"Darling why do you leave,
as the north wind begins to blow?
Will you be coming home to me?"