Yellow forsythia bushes whisper from the hedges that Mistress Spring has begun her approach. Trumpeting daffodils echo the note and pass the news, circling trees, edging sidewalks, and clustering around mailboxes, their heads bobbing in conversation.
Excitement builds as the stately Japanese magnolia, a willowy wisp of elegance, dons her prettiest pink and scatters petals in tribute. Dogwood trees spread a lacy canopy above the gathering. And then, like guests at a grand ball, the azaleas arrive. Dressed in their finest, they curtsy to their neighbors and take their places, nodding their pink, purple, and white heads to their fellow debutantes.
Springtime is powerful medicine.
Every whiff of floral sweetness infuses hope into weary, winter-worn souls. Discouragement’s icy grip loosens. Apathy gives way to inspiration and ambition, and hearts begin to dream again.
My grandmother used to pass long winters by planning her spring vegetable garden. “It’s what gets her through,” her kids acknowledged, and I understand. The hope of spring in the dead of winter is what gets me through, too.
Sometimes spring comes early, like this year in South Carolina. Other years have left me wondering if budget cuts cancelled the parade. But spring always comes—a testimony to God’s faithfulness.
I don’t know what season it is in your life. Perhaps death, disease, betrayal, or depression holds you in a Narnian land where “it’s always winter but never Christmas.” Take heart. Just as our faithful Father ushers in spring every year without fail, so will he bring beauty to your season of barrenness.
Spring is coming.