Delicate Strength (Ode to Spring)
Why do the flowers come up in the spring?
The ice isn’t finished, and the days are too short. The sun hides in the shadows of an early bedtime, and the frost graces the hill in the morning. And now, here they are, wildflowers pummelled by the rain. Such delicate beauty, thrashed by the storms. Is it weird to look at my window and feel sympathy for daffodils? Because I do. I can’t help myself.
They thought it was safe to stretch up towards the sky. They opened themselves to the world around and were met by the harshness of winter’s remains.
But then, sometimes, the sun peeks out from the clouds, and all becomes still and quiet as they yawn and stretch out, golden faces towards the sun. And there they sit on the hill, glowing in the final embers of the day.
I don’t understand the rain and the wind. They are harsh foes to something so delicate. And yet, they are still there—bobbing away, rooted deep down in something stronger and deeper. They don’t blow away or flatten under the weight of the storms. They just bloom on—more and more each morning. They fill up the hillside with yellow and cream. I see them glowing brighter every day from my perch across the way, like a slow-growing fire on the hill.
And then one day, I know I will find they’ve gone. They will give way to the next season and say their goodbye. They will yield when the times comes. But I will remember them there on the hill. Their absence is felt, but their memory is sure. And I know they will come again one day on the heels of our next fearsome winter. That’s just the way the Lord ordained it. Seasons heaving with rain and wind, yet delicate and strong beauty peeking through in spite of it all.
It makes no sense—this beauty blooming in the storms—but I’m thankful for it and wait with baited breath to see those daffodils bloom each spring. They give me a strange sense of hope and speak something deep to my winter-weary heart.
My guess is they remind me again that it really is all about beauty from ashes…