The Ping

At this time of year, I'm on the hunt for garden plants.

On the way to take my place in the pick-up line, I 

swoop through the garden area of every local market. 

After driving to the county library, it's easy to

take a quick trip through the feed store plant section.

A fast in-and-out at the swank florist is convenient 

when it's so near the grocery. We always need milk!

 Last week I found an interesting display of lawn decorations 

at the local home improvement retailer.

I ask you, why would anyone want a fake hydrant in their yard? 

I have enough problems with dogs using my front flower beds as their

poop town of choice. If I put this out there ... they might think they're invited!

(You know about Go, Dog. Go! don't you ...? They're just looking 

for a place to party.)

This angel with a price tag around her neck, gilded with buttery morning light 

stopped me cold, right between the hanging baskets and the rows of vegetable seedlings.

 Maybe it was the angel's reverent posture that held my attention.

Her smiling assurance of victory ahead made me bend down to peer into her face. 

Something about this hunk of cement-ish plastic reminded me of the holy, 

surrounded by the ordinariness of a garden store. 

The sight of it was like a ping from heaven, 

reminding me that there are more important concerns at 8 a.m. 

on any given Tuesday than finding the best deal on a cell pack of petunias. 

The Westminster Catechism translates the ping:

What is the chief end of man?

To glorify God and enjoy Him forever.

I find myself so often carried away in the distractions of life; the crazy, 

circular insanity of the mundane becomes my specialty, as if there is nothing else.

Glorifying God is pushed to the edge, forgotten. 

Then He pings me, and I remember where I am, 

who is in charge, and what is important.

I'm so thankful for that!