Today, Princess got invited to a friend's last-minute birthday party. We were running a bit later than I wanted to, thanks to Bean needing a diaper change. On our way, we stopped off at another of Princess' friends house to pick up her several-times-removed cousin. (They think it's so cool they're distantly related, and so do I!)
I got out of the van to go get Princess' friend, and next to the driveway was some bare dirt, sloping up towards a play area. The earth was packed, thick mud that had been buried under mounds of snow during our soggy winter. We had rain last week, but the ground is finally drying out, and there were deep cracks in the surface.
This in itself is unremarkable. But what I saw had me wishing for a camera in my phone. Right there, in the middle of the chilly weather was a sign of beauty and strength. A daffodil (or a crocus, but I think it was a daffodil) reached bright green spears out of the soil and had knocked some big chunks of earth out of the way as it grew.
The little plant was strong and steady, as if waiting for the air to grow warmer and the sun to shine brighter so it could keep growing and bloom. The starkness between what the small daffodil had endured versus what it would become was plain to see, symbolized by almost luminescent leaves rising out of bleak chaos.
Instantly, I thought of how we are like this. We toil and get full of dirt and at times hunker down under the ground as winter rages. But when the right time comes, we struggle through the layers to become what we were always meant to be, and our blossoming is even more beautiful when we look down to see what we pushed through and rose above.
Always remember, whether under the ground, struggling through, or reaching higher, that the Son is forever shining on His creations, encouraging us to bloom.