Why is it that EVERY year I go through the SAME cycle?

My faulty memory is as predictable as my perennials popping through the earth’s crust every spring.  Forgetting the warm will finally arrive and plants will once again rise, I wait impatiently, looking every day for life signs.

The first of May, I still see no green. I walk the stone path through front garden, kneeling, getting my face close to the dirt.  Nothing.  Sometimes I even dig a little with my index finger, trying to coax something before it’s time.  All I get is a dirty nail.  Anyone?

All life from last year is gone, it seems.  Dried stems stand where flowers once danced in the sun and breeze.  Some still clutter the ground.  No new life.

At least, that’s how it seems.

I know perennial life is buried life, for a season at least.  Down deep.  Out of sight.

The gardener in me must live by faith in spring coming so I don’t fall into despair when progress slows or even stops.

All the years.  All the labor.  All the investment.  Was it for naught?  Seems like every spring I wonder.

But no sign of life doesn’t mean no life.

It means being patient.  Having faith.  Holding hope.  Trusting.

We have a sure hope.

Sounds antithetical.

But it’s not.

I hope in things I do not see because I know history.

GOD HAS A RECORD.

He knows how much harsh his creation can bear in off seasons.  We all have our growing zones, our blooming stretches, our down times.  God never sets us up for failure.  He plants us in his perfect places.

Today, as I wait for some in my garden to sprout while others are enjoying full bloom, I pray for patience.  Patience with myself.  Patience with others.

And I pray for gratitude.  We are exactly where God will work miracles and resurrect us to abundant life, no matter how dead we might look or feel for a season.

So rest, this day, in the tender care of our loving Gardener.

We all will bloom again in God’s time, if we keep letting Him tend to our souls.  And in God’s eyes, no plant is more beautiful than another.  So don’t wish you were a daffodil, O my soul.  Autumn Joy sedum might be late, but it’s just as glorious.

There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven.  Ecclesiastes 3:1