It’s not something you’d have much reason to notice, really. Nothing as obvious as the white that covers locust trees or the exotic plush of magnolias. In fact, it’s so subtle that you could walk right past a cedar tree and never take a second look.
But the cedars are blooming, kind of a pulpy mass that looks more like something you’d see in the ocean than on an evergreen in the corner of Kansas. If you imagined three or four very small starfish kind of melted together in the center with soft, rusty orange spikes radiating outward, you’d have a general idea. Not the sort of thing that makes people ooh and ahh, really.
But it does provide the basis for forming the seed that keeps the species going and that’s pretty much the point, more than the appearance. Not every good work is as pretty as pie delivered to the front door, welcoming the family that just moved in from Minnesota. Not all of charity is quite as photogenic as the crippled child with the beaming smile, grateful for the lifting hands.
Sometimes, it’s helping fix a broken sewer line or pulling a bleeding drunk from an overturned car. Sometimes, it’s picking up some sweat-drenched hitchhiker or taking a bag of groceries to a dingy trailer with a yard full of dog dung and dandelions and stepping up onto a plank porch tilted in four different directions.
But whatever it is that is done in sharing the love of Christ sows the seed of the Kingdom and lifts up its fragrance to heaven. I suspect that a Savior born in a stable quite understands the organic nature of humble love.