A blanket of black, slimy leaves lies on the flower bed,
covering what lies beneath. Tangled with the leaves are limp stalks of last
year’s flowers, spotted with decay, broken and dead.
The weather yesterday was spring-like, so when I got a few
moments, I wheeled the barrow beside the flower bed and clipped away the
stringy stalks, scooped up the dead leaves. As I worked, I uncovered the shoots
of new life. I stepped gingerly on the ground in order to reach the back, wary
of wounding any of the tender daffodils, crocus and snowdrops breaking through
the earth.
These onion-like bulbs lie brown and dormant most of the
year, but time and season are beginning to draw them out of hibernation. From
what seemed dead, new life is sprouting. Fed, protected even, by what lay above
for the last few months.
The miracle of life. God’s gracious gift to us all. May he
use that which is dead in us to feed new shoots of hope and faith. He is good.
He is faithful. He is at our right hand. He will not leave nor condemn. May I –
may you – focus on him. His ways are not my ways, but his ways are right. May I
humble myself before him, and follow, repentant and forgiven, rejoicing in the
one who made me, who died for me, who lives in me. Without him, there is no
life.
May he use my failures, use my disappointments, use my hurts
to make more room within me for his Spirit to live. May my brokenness reveal
his light. May his joy be my strength, today and every day.
Jesus, all for Jesus. All I have and am, and evermore will
be.
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