On these dreary winter days, I look outside and see my silent garden. I anticipate that on a certain day not too long away, I will look out my window and see an explosion of tulips and daffodils. There is absolutely no evidence today; however, I am certain there will be a spring presentation of caladium yellows and brilliant purples.
Often my soul feels like a silent garden. I have asked God for help, healing, or advise , but there appears to be silence. I am not alarmed, nor do I think God has forgotten me. He has created me for His pleasure, for His keeping , for His seasons.
I remember that I have planted many spring bulbs. I have crated a path for them. They will bloom in spring, but not one peeks out in February. This reality reminds me of Isaiah 55:8,9 which says, " God's ways are not my ways." I am not blooming now, but I know I will bloom as my season transpires.
I have such passion for those golden daffodil blossoms that remind me of the childhood ones that I made of bright yellow crepe paper. I would take my hand made version and compare it to the ones in my yard. I realized that mine were just instant, stiff copies of the beauty God had created. I liked mine, but I liked His so much better.
I marvel at the intensity of the purple hue in a freshly blooming tulip. It is delicate yet rich in depths of color. It is silent yet boldly proclaims beauty like no other flower. It announces the coming of spring. It forecasts sunny days, warmth, and exemplifies resurrection. It is the season of God. It is His announcement of the resurrection of Christ. I am hopeful as I hold the sweet bouquet in my hands. I smell the sweet scent of hyacinths blooming around the tulips. I cherish the clean , serene group of flowers I have selected for my crystal vase. These previously dormant bulbs are being used to share hope, to become living art to my eyes, and to invade the very being of my soul. I pray I too can be used as mightily as this simple flower of spring.