Easter

Hard to believe that it is already Spring and even harder to believe Hank and I have been married for nearly half a year. SO Crazy! I hope time doesn't always fly by this quick. Unfortunately, I have a feeling it only gets faster.

    The dry Summer and wet winter have come together to create some of the most spectacular wild flowers I have seen in years. It is a wonder to behold as we drive through the country and partake of fields begging to be painted with their overflow of dainty yellow and white flowers, royal bluebonnets, and delicate pink buttercups. This weekend Hank and I are going up to New Braunfels for Easter to visit our families. Oh, I am so thoroughly looking forward to driving the long stretch of I-10 with the fields breaking into visible songs of worship on either side of me. It is a wonder to be surrounded by spontaneous beauty.

    Aside from captivating me with their beauty, these wildflowers mark for me the passage of time in a graceful sort of way. Month pass by so quickly; weeks and days even moreso. And if I don't stop to breathe and look around, then my least favorite saying becomes the refrain for my life: "Another Day, Another Dollar." Gag.

     When I walk through our neighborhood or drive to work and just fix my eyes on those flowers, I travel back in time to all the Springs of my life. 24 in all, though I don't remember a few of those earlier ones.

I go back to picking buttercups and pulling them apart to suck the sweet drops of nectar off the ends of the pollen shoots. I go back to leisurely bike rides, my legs stretching to take in the freedom and peace of a solitary ride in my neighborhood and my basket brimming with treasures like Indian Paintbrushes and illegally picked Bluebonnets. These were the best gifts one could give, I thought, and I would come home and promptly fill a little cup with water for my handpicked bouquet. The bouquet would then be set proudly upon the kitchen table for all to enjoy or given to Mom as a means of showing my love.

    Everytime Hank and I walk, I find myself picking a flower from the ground just to wonder at it for a bit before tiring of it and discarding it along our path. Twice Hank has reminded me that picking bluebonnets is illegal when he has found them stuck by the kitchen window inside a coffee cup.

     This year I didn't count the days of Lent and I didn't give anything up. Its been a rather quiet season and it has, in many ways, passed by like all the rest with little to set it apart. Perhaps I could have let Easter pass by without much thought if it weren't for "visions of rapture" bursting into sight nearly everywhere I look.

    They paint for me a picture of the Resurrection and Life. The quiet winter thaws almost too slowly for us to stop and notice but then it is Spring in the blink of an eye and the whole world is alive and has reached it zenith in full beauty and colorful splendor.

    The grave was quiet, still and forgotten by all but the faithful few. The promises of redemption, of resurrection were forgotten and misunderstood until the empty tomb and the angels and the Messiah himself proclaimed the truth.

   He is ALIVE. He is RISEN.

And in the midst of the cold shroud of grief, hope explodes and a promise is given. The promise of new life.