Easter Thoughts

Those crocuses. Those first pre-spring, heroic white and purple blooms. This year I saw their tiny green shoots spearing the ground on their way up while the yard still held remnants of the winter storm, scattered patches of unmelted snow.

This year, I showed the tiny flowers to Baby C. She stroked them like she strokes her doll. She laid down on her belly to get a good, close-up look. Then she jumped up to dance and cheer on these tiny flowers and their brave early entrance into the world. She carried the dirt stains and grass smears on her shirt from her investigation.

Every year they rise. And every year they make me happy. Every year they, along with the other bulbs, who slept all winter, bloom again and again each spring. And every year, they make me think of Easter. Of Christ who died and rose from the tomb. Who overcame the world. Who made it possible for me to live again.

Happy Easter.