In the Mimosa Tree

Not long ago, I was overcome by the sense that I haven’t lived a life that will stand the test of fire.

I think of the scripture that says ‘in that day, every man’s work will be tested.' It goes on to say that whatever is wood, hay and stubble will be burned and, basically, what is left is what we truly did with right heart and motives out of obedience to Him.

The more I learn about true love, the more I see where I have lived for myself. I’ve missed opportunities.

I've been haughty instead of humble. Been obnoxious instead of bold. Feels like I've offended more people than I’ve won. I've talked when I should have listened. Been silent when I should have spoken. And next month, I will be 60.

I hear the taunting of “Too late! Too late! Failed!”

This kind of inventory that reveals brokenness is hard but I trust it. I know God is near to the brokenhearted and He can sort out the voices.

I was crying and praying—confessing my heart and repenting of all the messes I’ve made.

Then I saw something.

I had a brief vision.

I had turned and looked back (as if looking at my past) and I saw a lot of piles of dirt. Each pile had a chair on it. Some of the chairs were very plain. Others, kinda fancy.

I said, “Oh, God! It’s true! I’ve a legacy of ashes and dirt and now I am old and have lost soooo much time to do things ‘right’!”

He said, “See the chairs?” “Yes, I see the chairs.” “Each time is a time when a war was fought and I took out the precious, left the dirt behind and gave you a chair.”

I was so overcome with emotion—that even dirt can be redeemed to be a story. They were mile markers of testimonies.

And I asked, “Why did you give me chairs?”

He answered, “You can go to each one and sit and tell the story about the pile it sits on and REST in what I have done. Not fret about what you have done. The peace is in MY work.”