The Color Green

Might we, if we have nothing to give, be empty because we walk through life with closed fists, covers over our wheelbarrows, back packs zipped up, hearts shut and guarded? And as God douses us with his blessings we take none of it in?

No fascination in the gossamer webs glistening in the sunlight.
No delight in the splash of a silly teen belly flopping into a pool.
No warmth in an old dog walking to his master's step.
No beauty in the quivering leaves stirred by the wind.
No art in the cocoon of dead palm fronds sleeving a palm's trunk.
No amusement in a toddler's fascination with a hose.
No awe that a bent old man still retains his sense of humor.

Why don't we marvel that God gifted us with not just one shade of green but thousands upon thousands? Seaweed-green and neon-green and mustard-green and glossy-new-growth-green and pea-green and eucalyptus-green and playground-green and old-lady-green and egg-shell-green and sea-foam-green and alpine-lake-green. 

And when God said, "Let there be light," he measured the wave lengths of all these greens, encoding them with a beautiful and complex parabolic pattern that probably correlates with the cycles of the earth or the number of times Yahweh is mentioned in the Pentateuch.  

Do we marvel at God's gift to us in the color green: this color that contains shades we've not yet discovered—deep-space-green and other-planet-green and heaven's-green. Do we believe that God delights in his creation, both the colors and his children—living with open hands and open hearts—discovering his colors?

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