For the love of tulips

We are experiencing one of the coldest winters on record here in good old Western New York. It's too cold to venture outside for any longer than the time it takes to get in and out of the car. While the snow has been frequent and often abundant, and we are always sun deprived these winter months, it is the bitter cold that has been the hardest thing to endure this particular winter.

March has been no exception; in fact, it has gotten only colder as the weeks have passed. There have been one or two days above 30 degrees, but most days are freezing--literally. As a result, the little buds of peonies and daffodils that are the first to poke their heads out of the ground have been shy. On days when I can brave the wind chill, I've looked through our flower beds to see any semblance if green coming out of the ground. Every year those little growths of green are a profound symbol of hope and rebirth. No matter how cold or snowy it is, when I see something growing in my flower gardens, I know that winter is over, and the great rebirth of the earth has begun. Hope grows in my own heart as I see the future happiness that the summer promises, all represented in those little tiny sprouts of life.

The days have passed into weeks, and still, nothing. The gardens are grey, the trees are grey, the sky is grey, our hearts feel heavy with the toil and burden of so much cold.

And then, something magical happened. I say magical quite deliberately, because not 24 hours before Trent and I walked through the yard, looking desperately for any semblance of life; finding none, we picked up sticks and branches broken off of our maple trees by the winter wind and scurried inside, seeking warmth. The very next day, as I backed the car out of the garage, I happened to glance right at the front entry of our house. And there, coming up out of the snow, two or even three inches tall, were the purple-green leaves of our tulips.

It seemed almost impossible, they hadn't been there a day ago, and yet, here they were, strong and brave, pointing heavenward, as though it were a sunny spring morning instead of a grey winter day.

I stopped the car and jumped out. I actually had tears in my eyes. Those dear, dear tulips, brave enough to bloom despite their harsh circumstances. Those delicate looking flowers really must be much stronger than they appear, to be bold enough to pop out of the ground at such desperately cold times; not only that, but also strong enough to begin to grow and bloom in the midst of such a harsh environment.

I keep thinking about that moment with the tulips. To be honest, It felt like a sign from heaven, a symbol of a merciful God sending me flowers during a dark, difficult time. As I have thought about those dear tulips, I've decided that I think I'd like to be more like them. I want to be brave, enough to grow, and strong enough, to bear difficulty and respond with grace and beauty.

Thank heaven today for growing things, and especially for our tulips.