It is not yet spring, and yet the daffodils have started blooming in Virginia; we could still have snow, but the earth has yielded a bounty of yellow jewels, heralding spring. There was a deep frost last night. I gathered a handful of daffodils in the early evening. They are a hardy bunch, but always, I fear for the long, green stems, and the lovely flowers when the temperatures dive down, and the frost is everywhere. It always seems an oddity to me…the blanket of frost, like snow, glistening in the morning sun, and then, the daffodils, still standing, defying the cold, defying winter itself.
I had been thinking earlier in the week that it was just too early for the daffodils…they should wait. Winter is not yet over. It reminded me of how we are so anxious for that early bloom of spring …we too, simply cannot wait.
In life, the seasons of waiting are very hard for us. We would like to ‘force’ a bloom when it is not yet ready. We long for things to go much faster than they are going. We like to see results, and quickly. Patience is the key, and a difficult one for us to get the hang of.
Daffodils are beyond beautiful. There is something so enchanting about a field of these yellow bonnets. They seem to beckon in the most extraordinary way that spring has indeed come. We forget that daffodils do not simply appear one lovely morning; they are a long time coming in the deep, dark earth. In the slumber of winter, nature is busy. The ‘art’ that is a daffodil begins with that ‘bulb’ of life, nothing at all of what it will be as a ‘yellow bonnet’.
So much of life is like that for us too. We plant the ‘bulbs’ of our lives, and we water and weed, and wait. We endure the chilling early spring rains. We hope the hard work of our hearts and hands will yield a harvest from our labor. We hope our ‘bulbs’ will endure the inevitable hardships along the way.
And although it is hard, we cannot ‘force’ the blooms. We must persevere all the same, working, watching, waiting. The work must continue even when we see little, if any, progress.
One day, some day, a field of our ‘daffodil dreams’ comes to life…often, when we are least expecting it. Perhaps, when the dream has been dormant so long, we have simply forgotten its existence. The dreams seem to come to life in a most miraculous way…and yes, much of it is miraculous. But suddenly, the plans you made, the chances you took, the faith that held everything together, makes sense.
The fields begin to bloom. There are green, grassy places, and the daffodils bloom in splendid form. There are children, and grandchildren. The dreams take shape in a medley of ways; there are the blossoming of careers, and gardens, and homes, where once there was nothing there. There is beauty in the field, the beauty of a life well-lived, despite the droughts, and cold, bitter winters. The sun rises up over the field, and there is the magic of newness, restoration, and peace.
Through it all, God knew the exact moment the field would come to life. He knew beforehand, the instant the newborn would open his eyes. He knew the very hour, the very day, that each dream would transpire. He knows the clock-work of our moments from the cradle to the grave. And He knows the moments thereafter. The heart-beats of our days flutter before Him; each beat counts, every second recorded. There are no ‘missed beats’ although it may feel that way to us.
So, we need not force the blooms, just believe in what will be. We need not question the sleepless nights, the conflicts, the pain, the passage when it is far from easy. In the stillness, our God is working, taking hold of our hand when we stumble and fall. He lifts us back up again, knowing the field is yet unfinished, knowing our tired feet will dance again.
It is there in the field with the sun rising up that we must stand our ground. We must take the hand of our Lord, and hold on tight. And there in the midst of the morning dew, we will find our hope, knowing we never dream apart from the one who made us his own. And our hope in him is never in vain. Always, always, He blesses the fruit of his own labor, and our labor, as well. The field, both mysterious and beautiful, is captivating and precious…even as we wait for the yellow bonnets to rise up around us. What matters most is that they are coming, and having waited, they are certainly all that more glorious.
” Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not; they spin not, and yet, I say unto you, that Solomon in all his glory, was not arrayed as one of these.” Luke 12:27
