Day 1
The Lord our God gives autumn and spring rains in season
See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come, the cooing of doves is heard in our land. The fig tree forms its early fruit; the blossoming vines spread their fragrance (Song of Songs 2:11-13).
“Your daffodils are blooming!” my sister commented as she stepped out my front door. I smiled as I looked at the small cluster bravely defying the late March chill. And I reminded her of the story of the daffodils.
I had planted them many years ago from some scraggly bulbs salvaged from a forgotten pile. I was quite frankly surprised when they showed up the following spring. And the next, and the next.
It was only a small cluster of blooms, but each year they burst into the waning winter drab with their dazzling yellow promise of springtime and sunshine and warmth. They became for me a yearly marker—a mental and emotional turning point from the "blues" of winter to the verdant greens of spring.
And then one year the end came. Essential plumbing repairs meant digging up a portion of my front yard—the portion where every shrub, every bush, every bulb was planted. So that was the end of the daffodils.
Except that it wasn't. Because the next year the dauntless heralds of spring again pushed their way out of months of cold hard frost—blazing with even greater promise and possibility.
But, I reminded my sister, there was more to the story of the daffodils...
In March 2020, in the first few weeks of the uncertain and unnerving new reality of a COVID 19 pandemic, I prepared to move in with my sister to help her through treatment for newly diagnosed cancer. As I left my house for what was to be the last time for several months, my eyes caught sight of the daffodils. Not many, just two or three. Running back inside, I grabbed a vase.
When I handed my sister the daffodils that day, I only knew that for me, they were a symbol of fortitude, resilience, strength and hope. Little did I know how much we would need each of these over the next several months as we fought major battles on multiple fronts.
Now three years later, the daffodils were back again, a symbol of hope, bridging past present, future. Pointing to survival, and renewal, rebirth and resurrection. And pointing most of all to the promise that in the physical and spiritual seasons of God's providence, spring comes after the winter is past.
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
~ William Wordsworth ~ Published 1807
Comments