The Gospel in a Daffodil

     Daffodils show a flirty glimpse of lacy yellow petticoat just above the ditch line as I drive along, enticing me to dream of spring's warmth.  From still-frozen ground, these first harbingers of spring burst forth, promising an end to winter's darkness and the light of hope.  And I am captured by their teasing, though it's winter still.
    
     The tantalizing hope of a brighter season causes us to believe against all odds.  Before the jonquil first appears, there is little evidence that growth or life will return.  Trees are bereft of leaves or retain just a few brown, lifeless hangers-on.  The whole earth appears barren and sad, locked in the fierce grip of dormant cold.

     Then, one day, up from the ground comes a tiny green shoot.  More appear, and finally a delicate yellow bud tightly closed against the frigid air.  They have always been my favorites because they wave a flag announcing the end of winter and the stealthy approach of spring.  But, to me, they also represent much more.

     They bring memories of flowers "borrowed" from neighbor ladies' yards when I was a child.  They remind me of so many bouquets gathered and shared over the years. Their fresh, heavenly scent fills a room with the assurance of a season of renewal.   But most of all, their bright color boldly proclaims the promise of resurrection and the triumph of new life - the Gospel in a flower.

     As the daffodils fade, may the promise and hope they represent remain.

A fresh start

            As a child, I got really excited about buying new school supplies.  The aisles of the old Ben Franklin held endless fascination as I carefully examined their offerings:  Blue Horse loose leaf notebook paper, yellow number 2 pencils, notebooks, pencil boxes, crayons, paste, report covers… the possibilities were endless to my childish eyes.  I even remember buying such improbable supplies as receipt books.  (Really? Was I planning to conduct a sideline business in third grade?)  

            The supplies themselves were symbolic of a new beginning, a fresh start.  A brand new school year with myriad possibilities.

            As an adult, my paper fetish continues.  I love a new calendar!  At the start of a new year, I enjoy going through the calendar to fill in family birthdays and anniversaries.  As the year progresses, appointments, meetings, deadlines, and other events fill the pages of my calendar, making a sort of diary of our lives when the year has ended.

            I still love a brand new notebook or binder with crisp, unmarked pages to fill.  It may hold a list of books I’ve read, study notes, to do lists, or other things.  But the promise of blank pages still fills me with anticipation and excitement.

            My younger brother and I used to compete to see who got to open the new jar of peanut butter, who got to stick in the first knife or spoon and disturb that perfect, creamy smooth top.

            School supplies, calendars, even a jar of peanut butter - all remind me of the human desire for a fresh start, a new beginning.

            There are days when I’d like to tear off the page and start again on a clean, unmarked sheet.  There are times when I’d like nothing more than a do-over, another opportunity to get it right, a gigantic eraser to remove my errors.  I long for that spotless, white sheet of potential, not the one I have filled with futile scribbling and mistakes.

            A fresh start is what I pray for you and me today.  The reminder that all things are possible with Christ.  It doesn’t take a new notebook or calendar, or even a fresh jar of peanut butter.  It only requires a bent knee and a seeking heart.