24 Apr The Song of Springtime

This past Saturday, we left our house in the car for the first time in a week. I commented to my husband how odd it felt to be in the car at all, but we had a mission – we wanted to go on a family hike.

The hiking trails in our area have been nothing less than an oasis for our thirsty souls in this season of isolation. While we haven’t been able to get out and walk them as much as I’d like, every time we do I find myself rejuvenated with fresh energy and joy for the week ahead.

The solitude we experience while on the trails doesn’t seem lonely, but rather natural, as our hikes have always been for us in the past a way to escape the daily grind and soak up the natural world in all its quiet and graceful beauty.

As we padded quietly around Cash Lake Trail at the Patuxent Wildlife Refuge, we watched birds land on feeders along our path, pausing to take pictures and admire their beautiful colors. We walked to the waters edge and watched as hundreds of tadpoles swam frantically around in the water, a graphic image of teeming life for us to treasure in our hearts.

Our greatest gift of all, and most unexpected, was when we came upon a large beaver dam. My eldest daughter walked closer to admire the handiwork and said in a whispered gasp, “There’s a beaver! Come here, you guys!” Sure enough, as we tip-toed over to where she stood, we saw a large beaver napping in the shade, mostly hidden by the tall grasses.

While we walked away quietly, one of my children said, “Look! There he goes!” and we watched Mr. Beaver head down to the shore and swim to his dam. As we drove back to our home that afternoon, I smiled and thought, “Nature put on a better show for us today than a Disney movie! (and trust me, we’ve seen a few over the last month!)”

Never Shut Down

In this strange season where everything around us has been canceled, roped off, and shut down, it is a gift to see a whole world of natural life awake and alive, growing and expanding, bursting and fruitful. The annual National Cherry Blossom Festival that happens in D.C. every year was canceled, but the cherry blossoms bloomed anyways. They put on their brilliant show regardless of the lack of spectators.

Another one of my favorite spring outings is taking a stroll through the Azalea Walk at the National Arboretum, which also won’t be happening this year. I have no doubt, however, that the azaleas will still bloom in their full glory for the few staff members maintaining the grounds.

This beauty unfolding all around us beckons us to come near – to open our eyes and ears to the handiwork of our God. When we look, when we listen, will we hear the message of hope resonating with the singing birds and the bursting blossoms?

Nature keeps on keeping on. And thank God that it does because its presence all around us pulses forth the message that life will go on even in the midst of trial. That there is a whole world unfettered and unmoved by the cares of mankind. The sparrows keep singing. The flowers keep blooming. And the wonder of it all points to the faithfulness of their Creator – the one who made the earth and all that is in it – the one who set the stars in their place and knows the grains of sand on the seashore.

Their Creator is ours, too, of course. And he who gives such care to the tadpole and crocus, to the lily and the hawk – how much more will he care for us? All the hairs of our heads are numbered.

So we, too, like a lily among thorns, can yet bloom in the midst of trial, suffering, and uncertainty. We can still thrive like the natural world around us when we plant our “soul roots” deep in the soil of God’s incredible love for us and put all our hope and trust in Him to sustain and carry us one day at a time.

There will be days for each one of us when the tears may flow fresh and real, and yet we can take great comfort in knowing that our God weeps with the hurting. With this knowledge that we are seen, heard, loved beyond reason and held by hope, the impossible becomes possible as our aching weakness is swallowed up with strength from above.

Then, like the blackbirds and chaffinches, we can emerge from this storm, still singing.