Remember not the former things,
Nor consider the things of old.
Behold, I am doing a new thing;
Now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?
Every morning I drive past a park. The steep, green banks and overhanging trees kissed by mist and sunlight are my only glimpses of beauty on work days otherwise filled by a concrete landscape. I love it especially in early Spring, when the crocuses begin to appear. Small gems of white, purple and gold peek up hopefully through the grass, a reminder that a new season is coming.
As I looked at the flowers recently, a still, small voice whispered:
Where are your crocuses?
Where are the small signs of hope? Where are the tiny jewels of colour emerging from the monotonous background of the previous season? Where are the beginnings of new life?
Winter can be such a painful season. Everything seems still, silent, dead. But buried deep in the darkness, something miraculous is happening. When the sun begins to warm the earth again, the growth that has been taking place begins to show itself, struggling up through the soil. I have found crocuses in the park, but also in conversations with a friend, in phrases that jump out at me from a book, in song lyrics or in unexpected kindness.
We keep looking for them, our crocuses, because though they are small, they are significant, offering moments of hope that tell us winter does not last for ever. A change of season is on its way.