How much MORE?

“Which of you, if his son asks for bread, will give him a stone? ¹⁰ Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? ¹¹ If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him!" --Matthew 7:9-11

(Three posts in short order. How much more can she have to say?)

This morning I looked out the window at my back yard, and desperately wished I had found time to rake the leaves yesterday. Before the rains came. The flat roof was buried; the postage stamp-sized yard now brown and soggy with the leaves from the pin oak tree-- next door. 

Dang. 

Someone reminded me that I would have just had to rake again, anyway, but I missed the crispety, crunchety "fun" rake. The one that leaves my ears ringing, that tempts me to rake, shuffle through the pile-- and rake again. 

I took my usual morning walk, and as I walked, decided I just needed to rake, anyway. Just because. I rationalized that tomorrow is trash day, so the leaf sucker trucks will probably be along soon, as well. And besides, there was more rain, heavier rain in the forecast.

So I grabbed the gloves, grabbed the rake, grabbed the push broom and set to the task.

Good grief. How can one tree offer so many leaves? So much more  than I could possibly want? And not only that-- take a look:

Still PLENTY more leaves where these came from. But I had decided to do this, and I did. I raked till there were no more leaves to rake (today).

I raked them onto the l-o-o-o-n-g driveway. And then I pushed them down the l-o-o-o-n-g driveway to the treelawn. At one point, it began to sprinkle. I had a little chat with the Almighty, suggested how much I would appreciate it if the rains held off just a little longer. Please?

The sprinkles stopped. 

(I know what you are thinking. And I am unsure how I feel about this. Kind of like the God of Parking Spaces. But God asks us to be like little children. So-- maybe. . . .)

But then, a few minutes later, there was a distant clap of thunder. Not nuts about the idea of being outside raking leaves with a metal-handled rake in a thunderstorm. Faster, heidi, faster. 

I remembered the story of Mike Mulligan and his steam shovel named Mary Ann, and how they worked a little faster and a little better, trying to finish the basement of the new town hall before the sun went down.

Another clap of thunder, louder than the first. And some random raindrops. Nearly finished. 

A few minutes later, and my task is complete. Like the local laundry. In [a big pile in the driveway] by 10; out [to the treelawn] in an hour.

See? The car gives you a clue how big my piles of leaves were.

From barely half of one tree that isn't even in my own yard. How generous is our God? Oh, if only those oak leaves, crunchy like potato chips, were edible. I would be set for a very long time. 

And the best part (maybe): Within 10 minutes of coming inside, the lightning cracked, the thunder came closer and the clouds opened wide. Those forecast storms arrived right on time.

* * * * *

So later today, when my shoulders are aching and I can only "Like" your status instead of commenting, because my hands are just too tired and stiff, remind me why. Remind me-- go ahead, rub it in-- that I am no longer as young as I used to be. 

And lest we forget that God provides for all in their need-- Look at the great hideout this kitty found when the rains drew near:

Time to go take some Advil. 

* * * * *

Thank you, Lord, for your many, many blessings, even (especially) for the ones that come well disguised. May our hearts be opened to receive your gifts. Amen