I grew up in Texas, where the two seasons are hot and extra hot. Now that I live on the East Coast, I enjoy watching the seasons change, especially when the cold, dreary winters give way to green, blossoming springs.
Suddenly, spring is upon us, both on the calendar and on the trees. Many branches remain bare and a chill lingers in the air, but the cherry blossoms gloriously express our anticipation of full-on, green-grass spring.
The brown, ugly branches of winter have birthed new life.
Everywhere I look, there are purples and pinks and whites dotting the landscape.
It's like joy on a stick, many times over.
Nothing says resurrection like spring bursting forth. The season is a tangible picture of what we celebrate at Easter: that what Christ did and because of what Christ did, we too will do. The grip of death and sin and our old ugly selves is released because He was nailed down. We are new, fruit-bearing trees of spring giving off a sweet-smelling fragrance to Him.
Come, spring! We've waited for you.
But, even more so, Come Lord Jesus! We long for our final and forever spring.