“It’s a chorus of bees,” I say to him from the stoop, next to the lavender plants flanking the concrete pathway to the front door. Their humming, like monks chanting deep soul verses, crescendo as more join in the swooping harmony surrounding the violet crowd.
A buzzing melody of the heart seasons swarm around us. Winter’s lonely soul places giving way to springs expectancy.
He wipes sweat drips from his forehead with one hand, holds the shovel in the other. Spring warms early and dirt sticks to his legs like a magnetic fuzzy face board. We exchange turns digging out the pencil holly in front of the bay window. The bay window where early morning sun streams her tiny golden fingers over his bed, tickles awake.
Insects invade on branches rooted more than five years now; shiny, petite leaves flocked on upright stems transform brittle brown in winter. “Do we have to take it out Mom,” he asks, “the bottom part of the plant is still green.”
We grieve the end of good things, when time waves her hand goodbye.
Winter bankrupts beauty.
When the heart lays long in the living death of winters grasp, beauty gathers in the cesspool of meaningless, blinds to light rising on the horizon, falls deaf to spring’s knock at the back door of communion.
Spring’s hope of resurrection pulses the heart awake again to beauty.
I take blade to a grey withered branch, a wallflower next to stems flush in green and clareet leaves, preparing for clusters of rose buds. Dig a hole for the new rose on the block, the one that will fill in the empty space.
He is doing this to me too, cutting off the barren places of overdone commitments and worn out schedules, to make room for new things. Meeting the girl I only know by name, this week, to start a mentoring relationship. Watering the soil of youth with the experience of life, trusting in Him for the growth.
Pruning is painful. Winter is bleak. Sometimes both are a necessary companion to spring’s gift of grace, to recognize the arrival of His goodness anew, hear the bees hum songs of spring.
If the LORD had not been my help, my soul would soon have lived in the land of silence. When I thought, “My foot slips,” your steadfast love, O LORD, held me up. When the cares of my heart are many, your consolations cheer my soul. Psalm 94:17-19 ESV
What heart season are you in? Are you in winter? I would love to encourage your resurrection into springtime through the power of prayer. Leave your requests in the comments, or email me here: firstname.lastname@example.org.
Sharing the gifts for Multitudes on Mondays:
For warm weather that renews a love for gardening.
Red geraniums sitting cheery in pots to welcome visitors at the front door.
No make-up and hats to cover dirty hair on lazy Saturdays.
For an expected window of time with H, without kids or agendas.
Courage in my girl, the way she wants to run for student council.
Her responsible character, to do a last minute testimony in front of a crowd that makes her heart flutter.
For the opportunity to hear Ann speak in person this weekend.
Painted toes and sandals.
Sweaty boys that smile after a weekend away with friends.
The lamb stew for St. Patty’s Day, the best we remember.
Friends around the table to celebrate.