A pair of lupines


The crisp, yellow seed is warmed by the spring soil, drinks the April rain. Cracking, bursting, to the final explosion. The husk is rent and torn by increments over the days as it ripens and germinates. The sprig of new life reaches up toward the sun, slowly parting the molecules of dirt until it breaches the hard crust of topsoil. Feeding on nutrients from the dead leaves of last autumn, it sends out buds, and finally flowers. Beauty surrounds. And is brought humble again by small hands picking lupines and laying them like offerings of nature in the chick box at Grandpa's.

Future "me": flower in full bloom. Present "me": seed in warm soil. There is a lot of tearing, rending, ripping, cracking, bursting and exploding going on in the deepest compartments of the soul. I weather the pain by focusing on the parts of the cycle still to come.

He who goes out weeping, carrying seed to sow, will return with songs of joy, carrying sheaves with him. ~ Psalm 126:6

I am a flower quickly fading,
Here today and gone tomorrow,
A wave tossed in the ocean,
A vapor in the wind.
Still you hear me when I'm calling,
Lord, you catch me when I'm falling,
And you've told me who I am.
I am yours.
~ Who Am I, Casting Crowns