The daffodils survived. Some were broken, these I gathered to adorn our house. Some are bent, their lovely heads drawing near the ground. Others stand tall, returning to glory and joy. Such is the work of a storm. The broken is redeemed to offer beauty; the wind and the weight of the storm causes heads to bow in humility, and truth is strengthened. Storms are not death. In the hand of God they are life.
Thoughts on Psalm 104
Wrapped in light as in a robe. Thank you for caring for your creation, for creating it with such beauty and terror. It is unsearchable.
My poor daffodils; they lifted their heads in new life toward the sun, showing off their wonder, bringing delight and joy. And now, covered by an untimely spring snow, even their stems are not visible. I mourn the loss of them. Spring comes only once a year and how many more springs will I have? I wanted to continue to walk among them greeting them, blessing them. I don’t know if they will survive this blast of winter.
A wintery blast has covered my soul even in the loveliness of the earth’s spring. Will I survive? Is there life still under the coating of cold? Prove your faithfulness to me, please God.
I remain trusting in you, even though I am numb. Warm me with your bright wintery sun. Seal me with your crisp breath. Hold me in wonder, proclaim your truth through me. “May the glory of the Lord last forever! May the Lord rejoice in his works!” Amen