My heart sank when the first azalea bloom caught my eye. It wasn't even Thanksgiving.
By January, the shrubs under the sweet gum trees in the backyard and under the scrub oaks that line the circular drive out to the road burst with color, and I wanted to cry.
I wandered round and through the bushes with my camera - my lens focused on the perfusion of pink, but my thoughts zoomed forward to March - when the azaleas are supposed to bloom like this.
And I said it out loud. If everything blooms this early in winter, there won’t be any flowers left for spring.
Ridiculous, I know. The only day I have is this one - the day I'm breathing and living, and to cry about flowers because they won't be here tomorrow would be ludicrous if it weren't so absurd.
The gifts of the day are like manna, I know – always enough and more than I deserve, but oh, how easy it is to forget that there’s manna for the days ahead. It might even be sweeter.
And so it is, this first day of March, when the shrubs under the sweet gum trees in the backyard and under the scrub oaks that line the circular drive out to the road continue to burst with a perfusion of pink, and I want to cry.
God's goodness to me is without measure.
Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me
all the days of my life... Psalm 23:6 ESV
all the days of my life... Psalm 23:6 ESV
