FOR LOVE &
LIFE
MY FRIEND had a big bed of lilies of the
valley along the northwest side of her house. One balmy
afternoon, as she went out to work among her plants, she
noted joyfully that nearly every leaf in the bed had a spire
of white bells beside it.
Soon a summer shower began to approach.
Over the hills beyond the Cumberland River marched cloud
chariots, preceded by wind scouts and a phalanx of rain
bowmen, whose first heavy drops stung almost like arrows.
Absorbed in watching the majesty of the storm, my friend did
not leave her plants till the downpour began.
As she hurried past the lily bed, she was
startled. The flowers had vanished. Only leaves remained. A
closer look revealed that each leaf stood curled around its
flower companion, sheltering it from the storm, preserving
its precious pollen till the God-ordained cycle of life
could be completed.
Who taught those father leaves to protect
their families? How, without ears or eyes, did they know a
beating storm was coming? Ah, the love of God is written on
every spire of grass, on every leaf and bud and flower. Look
in a Canadian garden in early summer, when the universal
rhubarb plants are sprouting. Every sturdy stalk comes up
wrapped about a smaller stalk, like an older brother
protecting a younger. Stand beside a roadside weed and look
directly down on its tip. Note how its leaves fan out around
the stem with a minimum of overlappage and a maximum of
sunlight and air to each leaf.
Trace down the stem, then, and see how
this unselfish regard for the rights of each leaf is
achieved. No leaf grows exactly above another. The placement
of leaves on stems is no blind chance. Indeed, complicated
systems of spirals involving intricate mathematical
principles of progression are to be found. This is the work
of the “Wonderful Numberer." (Daniel 8:13, margin.). "This
also cometh forth from the Lord of hosts, which is wonderful
in counsel, and excellent in working." Isaiah 28:29.
This same principle of loving protection
is found in every glade and meadow or garden path. In spring
the showy tulip lifts an open cup to the sky, and every
shower sweeps the pollen from its anthers. But no life is
lost, for the stem is busily growing new bulbs below ground.
By contrast, the jack-in-the-pulpit prolongs one side of its
cup into a pointed canopy and arches it over the flower
spathe, to preserve the pollen and so secure the seeds that
perpetuate its kind. Solomon's-seals and the trout lilies
hang downward their seeding bells, as do the Indian pipes of
late summer. Meadow clovers hide their precious
life-perpetuating parts under the butterfly wings of their
pea-flower-like blossoms. Hepatica's last year's
leaves-tough, woolly, and browned by exposure-blanket this
spring's buds. Some tree leaves hang on all winter in order
that their enlarged and hollowed stembases can shelter
their budding successors.
When summer's heat silences the birds and
browns the meadows, practically all trees and the delicate
flowers have passed their blooming time, and their seeds
either have already ripened and been shed, or are growing
inside protective fruits. Thus, life is sheltered from
destructive heat. The flowering plants of midsummer, except
ones like the delicate jewelweed of damp spring banks and
bogs, are of woody fiber with tough-textured flowers, able
to endure heat and drought.
Through everything with which God deals
runs the same law of love and life, and His love will
encompass us if we but open our eyes and let our hearts
expand.
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