The first day of Spring had arrived! I sat on my porch in the cool, misty morning, hands cupped around a steaming mug of coffee, grateful for the warmth. The sun had not yet topped the trees, and the light was that strange, blue mix of dusk and dawn. I could just make out the small, fenced-in plot of ground I dared to call my garden. I wondered if I should attempt to grow the yellow squash again this year; pondered once again the reason the flowers withered and fell too soon. They say the honey bees are dying, and they don’t know why. Could that be the reason for my fruitless plants? I watched the deer nosing aside the dried grass in the pasture to get to the tender, green shoots underneath. I turned my head ever so slowly so as not to send them bounding over the fence and into the woods, and was startled by a hummingbird that flew at my face, hovered at eye level for a moment, and was gone. How do the Hummers know when Spring has come? How do they know that all they have to do is buzz me, and I, well-trained as I am, will immediately get up and go into the house to put water on to boil? I can hardly remember from year to year how much sugar goes into the water to make the syrup, or where I have stored the little, glass feeder with its yellow-flowered perch that will hang from the awning like a dew drop, glistening in the sun. I smile as I stir the pot at the image of that feisty, little bird, no bigger than my thumb, its wings like tiny fists on its hips, demanding without a word, that I get to cooking. Is there any surer sign that God cares for his creatures and provides for them than to see the natural instinct lodged in the hummingbird’s minuscule brain, telling it when it is time to return from its winter retreat, and where it can find food? All of nature is the same. The Voice within beckons, “Come out!”, and the seed splits, the tree buds, the fern unfurls, the egg hatches, the tomb is empty. New life walks the earth, shakes off the husk of its former existence, and takes wing. It comforts me to think of how everything is connected; how the same Voice that speaks to the hummer whispers within my own heart, calling me out of myself, moving me to participate in the Grand Scheme of things. And I live in the blessed assurance that there is something greater than myself, and that even though it may not look like it some days, all is progressing as planned. The syrup is ready, thin and sweet. I fill the feeder and hang it up, then step back to quietly wait for the hummingbird to come and sip. And I am grateful for this tiny reminder of the promise of Easter; that one day, I too, shall hear the call, shall slip the bonds of earth, and soar.
May your Easter Celebration be blessed!
Pastor Barb <><
He is not here; He has risen… Matthew 28:6