Even though buds and blossoms always come in the spring, every year I marvel that these delicate, fragrant signs of life come from something that looked dead a short time before. Beautiful blossoms in colors from pale to vibrant emerge from living plants that are usually bare, sharp, and covered in rough, scarred bark. It seems so unlikely but we expect it, and know with certainty that it will happen.
I wonder at the picture of it—the cycle of extravagant flowers bursting out of bushes, shrubs and trees remind me that hard, desolate, dormant times can produce surprising beauty in us as well. Shouldn’t we then expect, encourage, and celebrate it in ourselves and those around us?