The Hope of Spring

Searching His Word                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Seeking His Heart

I trudged to the car. “Do I have to go to the Y?” I asked myself.

The last remnants of my cold were still hanging on. I felt tired from a long weekend with company, and added to that, my mother had a fall, then a fierce infection, and was very weak. “Yes, you have to go,” I told myself. “You’ve missed way too many days.”

So off I went. Daffodils stood proud in the neighbor’s yard  and there by the road, forsythia waved its yellow arms at me. The low-lying bushes had already grown their new green leaves and with all the rain, the grass stood up, lush and green.

“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered, a reminder that spring brings hope. All can be renewed.

I made it through the Y exercises and the aerobic pool. Mother was finally able to get up and I helped her dress. I had plenty of left-overs at home to fix an easy supper. All was right with the world.

It reminded me of my little Spring poem. Thought I’d share it with you again.

My Season

I spouted my leaves one summer day,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    Small ones they were in the month of May.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          I watched the Oak tree, big and strong,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        Growing thousands of leaves all summer long.

   

Knock-out roses bore red blooms.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    “Where is my color?” I sat and fumed.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Poppies, pansies, petunias, too                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                        All stood out with colorful hue.

The season wore on with this color-filled scene,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          But all I had to show was my same old green.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Fall came along, the oak leaves turned red.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      My leaves just shriveled and fell off, quite dead.

Winter time came with the cold and the snow.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                    The ice was so heavy, we bent our heads low.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                            Finally temperatures warmed my cold heart.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              I lifted my head. “I’ll make a new start!”

      

Now the oak stands strong, though a bare-looking fellow,                                                                                                                                                                                                                            “But look at me, I’m blooming all yellow.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      “Of course you are,” said the Oak, “Don’t be so ‘pithia.’                                                                                                                                                                                                                             It’s your season now, for you’re a Forsythia!”

Happy Spring!

~ Joyce ~

 

It Must Be Spring!

 

Searching His Word   Seeking His Heart

Searching His Word
Seeking His Heart

My Season

I sprouted my leaves one summer day,

Small ones, they were, in the month of May.

I watched the Oak tree, big and strong

Growing thousands of leaves all summer long.

 

Knock-out roses bore red blooms.

“Where is my color?” I sat and fumed.

Poppies, pansies, and petunias, too,

All stood out with colorful hue.

 

The season wore on with this color-filled scene,

But all I had to show was my same old green.

Fall came along , the oak leaves turned red.

My leaves just shriveled and fell off, quite dead.

Winter time came with the cold and the snow.

The ice was so heavy, we bent our heads low.

Finally temperatures warmed my cold heart.

I lifted my head. “I’ll make a new start!”

Now the oak stands strong, though a bare-looking fellow,

“But look at me; I’m blooming all yellow.”

“Of course you are,” said the Oak, “Don’t be so ‘pithia.’

It’s your season now, for you’re a Forsythia!”

 

Well, there you are, my little spring poem printed once again for you. I just love spring. I always look forward to the early spring flowers and flowering trees and bushes taking their turn to say, “Look at me. This is my season to shine. My color makes me stand out from the rest!”

Most of the time when everything is green in the summer or brown and bare in the winter, one bush or tree looks about like the next one. But come spring, each one has a time to be spotlighted.

It’s a little like our lives. We go along day after day doing our regular green routine or having the dull, gray doldrums. Perhaps our lives have been stark and eerie as those bare winter-time branches. We seem lifeless and dead.       

But we have hope because  God taught us every year that spring would come again. Sure enough, the nutrients are simply stored away in us. Hope comes to fruition with the sunshine and rain and the warming temperatures to form the first buds. We realize not only that we are alive, but we come alive with His goodness and grace. We, too, have a season to shine. Perhaps it is some major accomplishment or breakthrough in a challenge. 

The question I have for you is this; when you see that beautiful Forsythia blooming, do you glory in the bush or glory in the God who made it? Even the bush itself waves its flowery arms up to the Father. Jesus taught us,

“Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds and [here it comes…] praise your Father in heaven.” Matt. 5:16

There’s the lesson for today—hope comes alive in us, others see the hope in our hearts through good deeds or missions accomplished, and the Father is praised because of it. May we have renewed energy and fresh hope as we move into this beautiful spring. Soon we will be able to “stop and smell the roses!”

~ Joyce ~

It Must Be Spring!

IT MUST BE SPRING

I sprouted my leaves one summer day, small ones they were in the month of May.

I watched the oak tree, big and strong bearing a million leaves all summer long.

 Knock-out roses bore red bloom. “Where is my color?” I sat and fumed.

Zeniahs, Marigolds, Petunias, too, all stood out with colorful hue.

 

The summer wore on with this colorful scene, but all I had to show was my same old green.

Fall came along, the oak leaves turned red. My leaves just shriveled and fell off, quite dead.

Winter time came with the cold and the snow. The ice was so heavy, we bent our heads low.

Finally temperatures warmed my cold heart. I lifted my head; “I’ll make a new start.”

 

The oak still stands strong, but a bare-looking fellow. Oh, look at me, I’m blooming all yellow!

“Of course you are,” said the oak. “Don’t be so ‘pithia.’ It’s your season now, for you’re a Forsythia!”

Joyce Cordell – 2015

 

I couldn’t resist interrupting a final blog about Peter to insert this happy spring time poem. I just love Forsythia. Their joyful arms wave about this time of year to herald in the spring. And they’re blooming this week. I used to drive with my grandchildren and point out all the Forsythia along the way. I pronounced the word over and over until they could say it. Then they would begin to spy the colorful bushes. “There’s a Forsythia!” they would shout.

It amazes me how each tree and bush has its season to shine. Most of the time we hardly notice a Burning Bush or a Red Bud Tree, but when their turn comes, they shine with their reds and purples. Kind of like people. We go along doing our regular tasks, but every once in awhile, God uses our gifts in a special way that show our deep colors. You have a beautiful red or pink, or purple or yellow that is ready to come out in your season.

When I see the dark, stark branches of winter trees, I’m reminded that though they look quite dead, life is within them. God has shown us before that spring will come.  In a similar way, no matter how dead, dark, and dismal our lives may seem, He places life and hope deep within us. He always offers us hope.

I’m so grateful that God created our world with color. He didn’t have to, but it’s part of His nature to create and to create beautifully. As you travel along today, take in all the beauty and the shades of color around you. Soak in His presence through His creation.

As the trees and bushes put on their leaves of green, and rejuvenate and grow, may we too determine to grow deeper in Him, the source of our life, our strength, our hope. Happy spring!

~ Joyce ~