Thursday, April 14, 2011

Clinging to Dogwoods

I know when the dogwood blossoms wane, other flowers will follow--purple iris, pink country roses, and blue hydrangeas. But still, I hold on. I’ve been painting, taking pictures. Loving every petal.

Especially dazzling this year, the trees escaped a late frost which often burns the flowers and leaves them rusty and wilted.

Today, they are resplendent with all that’s ab ovo (from the beginning). Like an egg, which holds the hope of starting anew, the dogwoods seem to whisper into the very wind the possibility of restoration and rebirth.

This is my Father’s world, the birds their carols raise,

The morning light, the lily white, declare their maker’s praise.

This is my Father’s world: he shines in all that’s fair;

In the rustling grass I hear him pass; he speaks to me everywhere.

Maltbie D. Babcock

When I “hear him pass,” he says, “I am the resurrection and the life.” (John 11:25) And all in my life that’s broken, sickly, and anemic from this long, long winter rises to the cadence of his lilting message.


pvmanns said...

Beautiful post! Thanks for reminding me there's joy in appreciating the simple things in life. We just need to look around.

Beverly Varnado said...

Patricia, thank you. I pray the Lord continually opens my eyes to see his many gifts, large and small.

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