I wake up and scroll through my phone to learn about a Wendell Berry quote I had forgotten. At the end of his poem, “Manifesto: The Mad Farmer Liberation Front,” Berry says simply:
It’s a beautiful line in a beautiful poem. I think about what it would mean to “practice resurrection” each day in my own soul, in my tasks, and in every deadened area of my heart.
So all morning long, I think about that lovely and compelling phrase, “practice resurrection.”
Meanwhile, I’m working on a new project, and I am in search of a great commentary on the book of Ephesians. I text my husband on campus to see if he might retrieve one from his office library.
Then, I hear a knock at the door. A friend from far away who knows I loves verbs has sent me a book in which she claims there’s a section on “God’s verbs.” I unwrap the packaging to find a Eugene H. Peterson commentary on Ephesians.
I needed a commentary, and one arrives. How strange and convenient, like God received my text instead of my husband. But then I notice the wonderful title:
I think about these disconnected facts: my loving Wendell Berry’s poem; my needing an Ephesians commentary; my having a friend far away who knows I love verbs.
And then, the knock on the door where all disconnected things become connected under the power of a great and loving God who knows what we need, what will delight, and how to make sense of what seems like disparate, chaotic facts.
I love the way we open the door to God’s intervening, harmonizing, answering work.