My soul comes alive this time of year as blossoms are pushed out of their tightly squeezed homes, bursting forth in bright whites, strong yellows and fragile pinks. Hints of green on leafy trees are tempting my senses. And what is that warm blanket I feel on my suddenly naked toes? Could it be full sunshine, finally tired of its long game of hide-and-seek? Drink, thirsty soul!
My thoughts of gratitude will never cease when I see this spring beauty from my front window. Likely from a thrown-out peach pit, this scraggly tree clings on the edge of a steep bank at the edge of our lawn. Three years ago, David and I spent hours trying to extract our yard from the encroaching briars and and overhanging trees of the woods and bank. Long story short, my worn-down husband ended up hospitalized with pneumonia after prolonged fatigue of life. Our dear neighbors came up to the house to send us off to the ER, and quietly asked which trees we wanted to save along the bank. The only one I really wanted was the pink, barely-blossoming stick we'd recently unearthed. We had no idea what it was at the time. After several scary days at the hospital, we came home and found our bank cleaned out except for that beautiful twig, now in full blossom.
Since the spring of 2008, my husband's health has improved dramatically And that twig of blossoms has grown enough to require vigorous pruning, and even then is heavily weighed down with fruit in summertime.
God is good. All the time.
