The Son is the radiance of God’s Glory, and the exact representation of His being, sustaining all things by His powerful word.
~ Hebrews 1:3 NIV
The fickle morn opens the day with a hand-blown kiss of sun, then fades to cloud cover-gray. There is but a touch of warmth in the breeze on the snow-free path beyond my bungalow door. Yet, in my kitchen, a buttercup bouquet of daffodil and bell-like blossoms rises my spirit — sunlight! — waiting to surprise me afresh in crisp white porcelain pitcher.
“What kind of blooms are these?” I’d inquired at the market the day before. If they were what I thought, I’d only ever seen them in white…
“Freesia,” she confirmed. “Aren’t they fun?”
Mm…More than fun. Together with the daffodils in my hand, they were like grace and loveliness out of foggy gloom. The perfect breath of hope I wanted to bring to a grieving and lonely friend… with a small leftover for me.
Something in them stirred me to thoughts of quaint village cottages and walks in meadows where I might pick them in wildly growing profusion for the basket on my arm — fill my home with their fragrance and somehow… capture some bit of heaven’s wonder, ephemeral as a snowflake on my eyelashes…
So I snipped some into a lovely green and white bunny toile bowl (I LOVE Home Goods finds!) to walk over to my friend…
And held a portion of fresh picked glory for my own counter space…
Today, when I leave the shelter of the house, I carry them with me in imagination, set my foot to walking as though with D.E. Stevenson, upon Scotland brae. In my mind, the gray has peeled back to reveal great white clouds… like the length of a wedding veil trailing shadow up and over bare hills. A cardinal swoops to a still empty branch, amid birdsong from it’s unseen comrades round me. I envision the woolly sheep dotting the hillsides. There are clouds and clouds of frilly white and butter yellow daffodils stirring waves across these fields, and I spot a gray bunny dash into the brush.
I think of such fields as I’ve seen on P. Allen Smith’s Garden Home (PBS), the breathless sort of magic in coming upon masses and masses of white and yellow daffodils oh so gently swaying like billows on the sea, far as the eye can go… The kind of magic that tastes of wonder and forms your mouth to an “O”… And makes the light and air about you seem fragile as a dream…
When into my flight of literary fancy, one word breezes… light as these gentle blooming bells… Alleluia.
Last year at this time, life was overwhelming on many levels. This Easter there are other reasons for loneliness… faith-stretching hanging onto the Word, keeping it on my lips and tongue… and trusting because You said so, Lord.
But alleluias are ringing… and like Jesus to the woman with the issue of blood, I hear him urging us to trust and hold His Words close… “Go, your faith has made you whole… walk free of the plague!” Or to the father of a twelve year old girl given up for dead, “Do not be afraid, only believe…” Or to the disciples…See what blessing a few fish and loaves can do…
To you… to me.
Does it seem impossible?
I’m reminded of a story post I shared last year… The words of one character to another…
“ ‘Are you going up the hill?” inquires Todd. “It’s a nice walk on a breezy afternoon…and if you’re lucky you may see some fun…’
And of the wonder and touch of Glory that came next. (You can read that here… In the Splendour of the Hills… and I hope you’ll click over to taste this delight that I am positive came out of the author’s true life experience! )
Joy and wonder. Merrily, merrily, merrily merrily… Let us carry them over our arms, in our baskets, up over the hill…expectantly. Alleluias are ringing. Calling us to singing them out… For He is waiting, radiant with Glory, to sustain us by His powerful Word.
© Pam Depoyan
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Photos – Daffodils and Freesia, mine. All others from P. Allen Smith’s Garden Home.
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