Right now snow covers the soil
on the ridge where red rocks
jut from the foothills, where
I have walked and wept
and wondered at the way
winter is harsh
and spring is muddy.
The ground is barren now,
but in just months she'll sprout.
Come summer, this soil will burst with green.
The trail will put on her lavender scarf.
The wind will ruffle through
each bloom.
May today be the day you realize
that if God dreamed wildflowers
into existence from the dirt,
which rise
season after season from snow-covered soil, through mud and muck
and storms, then
your blossoms can return from
winter too.
And if most wildflowers stretch
as rainbows on remote hillsides,
far from trails with human eyes,
your beauty can also be stunning
even if unseen by others' eyes.
Honor the hard ground
where seeds hide under snow.
No farm lives in perpetual
harvest.
No wildflower blooms all year.
Hallow your hidden work,
how you push through the dirt
year after year, day after day,
choosing kindness over criticism,
forgiveness over fury,
and trust in the truth
that beauty will
eventually
bloom.
You are a perennial.
Your flowers always return.
There is beauty
both in your blooming
and your becoming.
Be tender
toward the time
between both.
If God imagined that small,
brown seeds
far beneath thick, white snow
could one day curl into damp,
dark dirt
and spring into whorls of green
with strong, maroon stalks
crowned
with bell after lavender bell,
then he will curl you in his care,
he will spring your life into
the air,
he will build bells from your
small buds,
he will delight in watching who
you will become,
for you are the flower of
God's love.
Love is patient.
Love is kind.
Love is… mine.
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