February is a tough month. Its days of lengthening sunlight hold little of interest to see. The ground is alternately hard as granite and sloppy with murky mud.
Trees are still on strike, picketing the last days of winter with colorless, brittle limbs. Browns and grays coat the world in fatigue. And above all this
drabness the sun giggles down a bright riddle of teasing warmth.
Time ticks an echoing dull-sameness. Our hearts are desperate for springtime…
And God is getting everything ready. I imagine him, in my human way, strolling through pastel meadows of possibilities. All around Him, samples of new life are on display.
Sprigs of lilac bushes. Tiny, sharp spikes of newborn grass. Sturdy tulip petals in every color He makes.
He strides through the beauty around Him, touching this dogwood tree and that forsythia bush with the hands of a Master Landscaper. The branches strain toward Him and bud eagerly in the effort.
For the complete column, see this week’s edition of the Centralia Fireside Guard.