Gifts are Gifts

Today at the farm, we walked around and picked wild black raspberries that we kept discovering more and more of.  I felt like maybe You were telling me something in that.  That there is no end to the wild wreckless supply of good gifts You want to give us, not ones we have to push to get, but ones You have all ready for us to receive.  The sweetness and wildness and peacefulness of Your gifts.

And again, when it all comes down to it, are the gifts You?  No.  They are reminders of Your love, how You want us to grow, accept love, and take care of what You give us.  Accepting the fullness of them.

Still though, these gifts are not You, are not sitting with You, lasting like You, loving like You, and intimate like You.  You always win those competitions by being the most everything.

Help me not forget.  My gifts can be separated from me; in the journey of life, the finality of death, by theft, by not taking care of them, by people in power over me.  But You God, don't fit any of these categories.  You remain, in spite of all this, in spite of me.  Help me to remain in You.