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If I seem a bit more forgetful than usual lately, I’m blaming it on the mushrooms. Early this morning, I headed for the garage to open the doors and let in the fresh, cool air. But walking through the kitchen, I was distracted by the spore print on the counter—a simple grade-school project I somehow missed until now. The intricate detail amazed me, and a tiny mushroom face smiled up at me. By the time I returned to the garage doors, warm sunlight was already pouring in.
Lately, mushrooms have been stopping me in my tracks. I’m intrigued by their beauty, and I can barely walk a dozen feet in the yard without tripping over one. But I’m not the only one here who enjoys them. Squirrels and chipmunks feast on them, apparently unaffected by toxins, while turtles, turkeys, and deer also include mushrooms in their diets. Often, I see discarded stems, like when you eat the middle of an Oreo cookie and leave the rest behind.
Mushrooms fascinate me: fresh from the ground with perfect baby skin...
pushing leaves and sticks aside...
or elephant-skinned with life scars and lots of character.
Some, tiny as peas, catch the eye with neon colors...
while others show off their gills and stripes.
I love mushrooms, but more than that, far more, I love the One who made them, who also made the stars… and us.
Through Jesus, He calls us into a relationship with Him: He invites us to call Him Father.
