You only are the maker
of all things near and far.
You paint the wayside flower,
you light the evening star.
The wind and waves obey you,
by you the birds are fed;
much more to us, your children,
you give our daily bread.
Yesterday was Palm Sunday and the first day of spring. I preached at Evangel with spring flowers at my feet. Some of them were daffodils. They are among the first flowers of spring. Along with the arrival of the Robin in significant numbers, and the blooming of the crocus, the blooming of the daffodils has become a quiet ritual that moves me to worshipful tears every year.
In the far corner of the north parking lot at Evangel every year in late March or early April a cluster of daffodils blooms bright yellow like a patch of sunshine. It is a small thing but I watch carefully for it every year. Shortly after dawn yesterday, with a cup of coffee in hand, I stood there in the chill of early morning and noticed that the plants have faithfully pushed their way through the soil again this year right there beside my car in the corner of the parking lot.
Much of our life is spent planning, plotting, and hoping for big momentous things or worrying about tragedies that may never occur. Every spring I stand over a cluster of yellow daffodils nodding in the breeze and I remind myself that the sweetest things in life are quiet and simple and easy to overlook.
I remind myself to breathe deep, walk slow, hold tight to those you love, and enjoy simple and beautiful things like the return of the Robin and the blooming of the daffodils every spring. I have a deep instinct within me to trust my life to the One who created daffodils.
March 21, 2016