The Promise Keeper

The wait was over. Finally, after long, bleary winter, those tulips daughter planted last fall, the earth gave birth and I danced happy. I flipped on camera switch, anxious to capture images, reminders of what comes after the dark, the bleak winter and hopeless feelings that stretch the soul into mammoth yawn. Click, click, click. Feet tapped the damp blades of grass. Our neighbor caught sight and yelled over, "Don't forget my pink one over there," she said, motioning toward her own hot pink tulip standing tall in planter. No, that is your gift. These are mine. Click, click, click.

 

A bird tweeted spring lullaby in nearby tree, a gentle breeze caused blooms to move in unison, mother nature's ballet. Thank you. A song I recently heard played across my mind, massaging the worn part of me, the part that yearns to have everything figured out, comfortable, easy, painless. Adjusting camera angle, inhaling warm, grateful breath, I snapped again, proof of renewal, eternal promise tunneling its way past the fear. Same patch of earth I plopped in my own mother's tulip bulbs eons ago. Orange-tipped blossoms winked at gray sky, oh, how clever God is, the small graces, ones I can so easily miss, the power they have to jump-start weary, tired, spirit. The song, it continued to weave timeless message across ache, and I added a link at the bottom, for all who are worn thin, please don't ever give up. Eyes focused clearly on gifts, they see through the haze, a willingness to thank for small, it must be the key. For all is grace, and I clipped on another camera lens, hungry for a single hint from God. He waxes poetic across the earth, and I scanned spring sky, noticing a swatch of baby blue elbowing through bank of endless clouds. A promise, it appears on time, disguised as green stems and yellow orange blossoms, it kisses gray horizon and the soul, it hums quiet.