The peonies are waving their scrawny, red shoots around in the clammy, spring air.
Our Second Son always associated these with his birthday. As soon as the shoots
broke free from the winter earth, we'd say, "It's almost your birthday!"
Even though the blooms that would open on his
birthday were still a couple months away.
Isn't that what spring is all about, anyway?
Unashamed, unreasonable, crazy-talk kind of hope.
Who would ever believe these weak-looking stems would
become a bush and bear glorious blooms?
No one reasonable, that's for sure.
Starry-eyed dreamers, only.
Just all of us.
Each of us has seen the fulfillment of this insane hope
year after year. So we don't wring our hands and wonder. There's no fretting
about failure. Everyone knows what miracle is being wrought out there,
and joyfully anticipates this -
If only this sort of certainty could be experienced in our faith lives, too.
After all, how much more reliable is the Father God than a peony bush?
Should we stand vigil over His word and wonder if it will really bear fruit
as promised and wring worried hands? Why fret failure in the night hours
when His mercy and grace have been obvious year after year?
Where are the starry-eyed dreamers, the peony-bush believers,
who anticipate the miracles to come and the beauty yet to be born?
Let it be just all of us.