T’was springtime. At least that’s what the calendar proclaimed. The frigid air greeted full blast as the winds made known the need of winter wardrobe upon this morning’s walk.
I marched to the tune of “April showers bring May flowers,” but the only flowers round me were those stuck all solid like within the ground. The country cemetery just across the road had its gates open, and so I entered His courts with praise. Making my way several times round the old church resuscitated my hope of spring as the fresh air filled my lungs. However, each time I circled, memories came full circle.
It was last fall when this same path had been taken. The silk flowers under a fresh pile of snow looked like ice covered gardens. The winter weather had moved in sooner than later and the colorful piles stood frozen solid…well grounded. A tug upon them made it known just how well rooted they had become as they’d settled in for the long haul of cold weather.
However, months later as I now passed by the same little clumps of flowers, they waved all friendly like in the morning sun. As the wind ruffled the silk like pedals, it were as if they, too, were glad the earth was warming up now so they could do what they were supposed to do…bring comfort to those looking on.
Each time I made my rounds, I noticed another bunch I hadn’t noticed. The purple and pinks stood out as if to say…frozen ground does not have the final word. And truth is…it doesn’t.
Come what may is a delightful saying. But truly, when May does come in the tundra land of the northland, we are grateful. We are grateful for the spring thaw, the colors that bloom bright, and the renewal of hope sprouting into spring.
It’s the time of year when calves are born…at least in our neck of the woods. It’s the time of year when the greenhouses offer therapy as you stand round not only purchasing plants with color blossoming upon them, but you get to ingest color which treats your eyes like soul food.
The soul food offers blessed assurance that not only Jesus is mine…but oh what a foretaste of the glory divine. Watching a waiting…looking above filled with His goodness, lost in His love.
How would one know so deeply that which springs from the deep? Well, the writer of this song “Blessed Assurance” knew it well back in 1873. I trust she did. I trust because she was blind. Her faith had to be sight when Fanny Crosby wrote the words.
What more can one say? Perhaps one can say just a little more. You see, to live deep is to love deep. You cannot go deep unless you grow deep and so it goes and on it goes. The Song of Solomon in chapter 2 verses 11–12 says it well: “For behold, the winter is past; the rain is over and gone. The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come.” Amen.
Kathleen Kjolhaug, OblSB
This article was first published in Theology in the Trenches, a column written by oblate Kathleen Kjolhaug. Posted with permission. Read more articles on her blog, Theology in the Trenches.
Photo: Snow adorning a withering flower, taken by Sister Nancy Bauer