“Cass!” Scottie’s voice snapped me out scripture. Scottie, my baby
brother, found me inside my new hiding place.
I only wanted to settle myself in somewhere amidst this maze of a hotel
spa. I was seeking to use this slice of solo-time inside this family vacation
to do what I honestly wished I could do with them- commune with God and read His Word.
I spotted the hot tub at the end of the hallway, but I was gently pulled
into another room. My eyes landed on the door label.
CONTEMPLATION ROOM
A room set aside just for time inside my mind? Sounded kind of dreadful…
but the Father used the couch in view, comfortably calling me to prayer. So I
ditched the hot tub route, curled into the couch and pulled out my Bible.
But, my baby brother was just around the corner.
“You didn’t get any coffee!? Look at all this!” he said, making himself
at home, helping himself to the coffee bar I was sure wasn't for me. Well, whether
it was for us or not- it was there and no one was around, which meant Scott was
all over it.
“Oh! Let me make it for you!” he said. He stirred up a carefully
selected proportion of creamer, sweetener and some kind of latte cappuccinoness.
“Ya readin’ again?” he asked as he handed me the cup of cavities.
“Yup!” I paused, contemplating my next question. I couldn’t help myself.
“Wanna read something with me?” I tried to ask casually, supposing it was worth
a cappuccino-shot.
“Eh, sure,” he said, in his indifferent, whatever way.
He was all whatever and underwhelmed; I was altogether overwhelmed.
Did this moment really just slide into my lap? Getting to sit one-on-one
and open the Word of God with my little brother…. Certainly I was dreaming, still
sleeping on the massage bed. Or maybe I wasn’t dreaming, just contemplating?
Whatever- if it was a dream, I was staying in it as long as possible. With my
baby brother sitting next to me, I didn’t bother to pinch myself; but I did
keep my joy exposure at a minimum.
Okay. Something simple, Cassie… don’t overwhelm him.
Got it- Psalms.
“Alright- Psalm 1, ya ready?”
“Go for it!” he said, scooting in a little closer to me on the
contemplation couch.
I read aloud.
“Blessed is
the one
who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
or sit in the company of mockers,
2 but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
and who meditates on his law day and night.
3 That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
whatever they do prospers.”
who does not walk in step with the wicked
or stand in the way that sinners take
or sit in the company of mockers,
2 but whose delight is in the law of the Lord,
and who meditates on his law day and night.
3 That person is like a tree planted by streams of water,
which yields its fruit in season
and whose leaf does not wither—
whatever they do prospers.”
I allowed a stop. We said
nothing. I tried to fill the silence, while knowing that he was probably both
half-listening and lost.
“So, it’s making a comparison here,” I explained, “between a man and a
tree. So, when we have a relationship with God, He starts to grow fruit in our
lives,” I said and reread my spoken words. Fruit in our lives? I realized
that probably sounded completely ridiculous to him.
As if God’s Spirit Himself threw me a personal paper airplane, a section
of scripture explaining the fruits of the Spirit of God flew into my mind to
the rescue. I knew then this would help him understand. I flipped frantically
to Galatians, attempting to make the most out of every second I could share
with him these secrets to life.
I read aloud.
“22 But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness,
goodness, faithfulness,23 gentleness and
self-control…” Galatians
5:22-23
I allowed a
stop; then asked, “Are there any of these fruits you feel like you need more
than others?”
His face of
contemplation was so pleasing to me.
“Peace and
Self-control,” he said.
“I gotcha… I
definitely need those too…” I said, humbled by the truth inside those words.
Before he
could get up to fill his cup with cappuccinoness; I filled the silence with a
bit of silliness.
“But isn’t
that cool!? Fruit is so delicious! Like… if we were to actually taste love,
joy, peace… they would taste better than fruit!”
Just a millisecond after the word “fruit” fell from my mouth, our
attention was stolen by a woman standing in the doorway. She was balancing a
giant oval platter on her hand: a smorgasbord of fresh fruit. The centerpiece was
a chiseled pineapple tower, vines intertwined with vines of grapes, carefully
cut cubes stacked on cubes of cantaloupes, pineapples and honeydews, and
strawberries cuddled into one another, creating for themselves a perfect bed.
The freshest feast of fruit was just catered straight to us.
“Looks like this is just for the two of you!” she said as she laid the
weighty tray before us, beaming with natural brightness.
“Enjoy!” she chirped cheerfully, as if she had just excitedly executed
her one liner in a play, and nonchalantly walked off stage as she walked out
the door.
With my Bible lying on my lap, flopped open to the highlighted fruits of
the Spirit, we both stared at the platter. He turned to me, and I was face to
face with a specific smile across his lips and a new glow in his eyes. It was
the spitting image of the child in him, the one I could only catch a glimpse of
when I pulled out our old photo albums. This sweet smile was like a spritz of
cool mist straight on my face in the scorching heat of a desert. He just
witnessed a mini-miracle; but just then, I witnessed two.
“Woah,” he said, “that was cool.”
And like two giddy kids, we giggled and feasted on the fruit before us.
