The grass in our yard is the faded yellow of a brittle old newspaper.
Had I not experienced it happen every year for nearly a half-century, I’d think it ludicrous to suggest that it would somehow come back to life. But soon it will be a vibrant green and I will be paying some teenager to drive all over it on a tractor to keep it from growing into a jungle.
Spring is a miracle.
Unfortunately, like most miracles we encounter in life, we don the proverbial “Been there, seen that, got the t-shirt” t-shirt.
I remember planting beans in elementary school, pressing them into black potting soil that was packed into a white styrofoam cup. I remember drenching the dirt with water and placing it near a window so the sun could do its mysterious work. I remember waiting, and waiting, and waiting, before eventually giving my attention to something more exciting.
Then a miracle happened. Unannounced, after God knows how many days, a tiny fleck of color played peekaboo through the dirt.
Little is more miraculous than the transformation of a humble, unremarkable seed into something green, alive, and beautiful. It starts life in darkness, but it doesn’t stay buried for long. Called to the light, it wills itself upward, pushing out of its false grave. It absorbs the sun’s light and the rain’s refreshment and the soil’s nutrients to transform itself into something different and better than it was before. It delivers on its promise of potential, bringing forth something valuable to the world, in the form of fruit, or shade, or beauty.
This is the invitation spring offers you as well.
It’s an opportunity to move toward the light, leaving a dark season you may have been inhabiting. Like a seed, your origins might be humble and unremarkable, but you are given the chance to contribute something special to the world, in your own unique way. The world needs what you have to offer.
Of course, none of this happens all at once. Few worthwhile things do.
Remember, the crap you’re dealing with can become fertilizer. And results require time, patience, and attentive weeding of the Adultitis that can choke progress. But when all hope seems lost, often then is the precise time that something new bursts forth, and the promise is fulfilled. We may be surprised by its sudden appearance, but progress has been advancing all this time, albeit in hidden and mysterious ways.
What are you patiently waiting for in your life?
What weeds do you need to uproot, such as distractions, relationships, routines, or possessions that are no longer serving you?
This week, I invite you to draw your attention to miracles. Miracles that reveal themselves slowly, not with a flourish of flair and showmanship, but in a deliberate unfolding of something no less magical.
As you watch spring do its thing, and new life bursts forth all around you, may you be reminded of the power of patience and the miracles hidden within you.
I wonder…what is something miraculous you’ve noticed lately?
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