I walk the yard in the once-again spring, the season I dare to believe in during the unconvincing brown and gray of March. The season always surprises me, unfolding slowly yet suddenly. The ground softens, the rivers swell, the ferns unfold, the frogs sing and there is all. this. life. I am recklessly hungry for it after the long, cold days of winter.
It seems every flower has a word for me today. Lily of the valley. It’s been a “valley” sort of year. Just putting one foot in front of the other. Navigating unfamiliar roads of unintended wounds both given and received. Yet I know there are lessons for me here. And here, in the valley, there are lilies. They are white and small, bent low and hiding—each little bell a beacon of beauty and fragrant hope.
Then there are the bleeding hearts. In this world where bombs are exploding and children are shot and refugees cry in the dark, there are so many bleeding hearts. And here in my own corner I’ve felt caught in a difficult place. I so often fall short of my own expectations and the weight of my own sin can feel too heavy in the balance.
This is what God does. He brings life. He makes new things. He makes things new.