On the chilly walk, I stoop down to observe the persistent and powerful crocus. Two things: the purple astonishes me every spring, and the fact that they emerge through snow and freezing temperatures challenges my whining over my circumstances.
The crocus sings. The crocus pushes up through snow, piles of decaying leaves, and empty landscapes to announce a reality that’s coming that we cannot yet see.
Spring is here. I bring it within me. Don’t worry. If I’m here, Spring is too.
The crocus means hope. It means the sure arrival, like clockwork, of blessing despite any circumstance.
The crocus tells me I will learn to worship, to push up toward the light, year after year, year after year, because it’s the way of things. It’s how life works: one day, you’re in winter’s clutches. The next, you’re victorious and a display of God’s nature.
I also think of the Holy Spirit within me. I bring Him with me. If I’m here, so is God. It doesn’t matter what Winter says. I bring Spring.