Bluebonnets, Easter, and Faith

Today, the day after Easter, my husband and I had a mission:  we wanted to find bluebonnets.   Bluebonnets are the Texas state flower; I have seen pictures of enormous fields of them, but had never seen an actual field of bluebonnets.

For the last couple of weeks that was one of the main topics of conversation.  "You have to see the bluebonnets!"  "Have you gone to see the bluebonnets?"  It was Lent, and then Holy Week, and I had not taken time to go and try to find bluebonnets, but I knew that I wanted to take the time as soon as I got through the Easter services.

People gave me some ideas and suggestions about where to look, but they also assured me that it would be easy for us.  "Just drive west and they are all over the place!" they said.  So that is what we did, this morning.  We drove west, toward a beautiful historic town just over an hour away, and we kept our eyes peeled all along the highway, searching for bluebonnets.

We found some pretty impressive bright orange flowers (which I discovered later were Indian paintbrush.)  There were some bright yellow flowers too -- whole field of them.  But I was not terribly interested in those.  There were some delicate pink flowers, and there were some occasional dots of purple.  But where were those enormous fields that I had heard about?  Were they legends?  Was this a bad year for bluebonnets?  (I had heard that some years were not as impressive as others.)

We had been driving around for awhile, and I was about to give up.  We actually stopped in an Antique store in town and asked about where to go to see them.  The owner said she didn't know, except that there was a very small clump on the corner of her property.  It was not what we had been expecting.

We turned around and were about to head home when my husband shouted, "There they are!"  Our first clue was that there were two other cars stopped along the highway.  There were two women who were taking pictures of each other sitting in the bluebonnets.  They spoke Chinese.  Three other people with British accents wandered around taking pictures as well.   Bluebonnets are an international phenomenon.

I was about to give up, and there they were.  Not an enormous field, but beautiful enough.

I am thinking about the empty tomb, and Jesus standing in front of Mary Magdalene.  She had given up, and then suddenly, there he is, standing there, alive, the most impossible thing to happen.

I am also thinking about all of the heavy news of the world, the terror in Brussels and in Pakistan, none of which can be fixed by seeing a field of bluebonnets, and by taking pictures of yourself standing among them.  Bluebonnets can't do anything but remind you that beauty is in the world.

They can also remind me not to give up.  Keep going.  Keep doing good.  Keep living as if the promise is true, as if Jesus is risen and the power of unending love will finally triumph.  Keep standing up for the weak and the hungry and the stranger.

Don't give up.  I may not recognize him, but Jesus is standing right in front of me.  Fields of bluebonnets are just around the corner.

Snow Day at the Pre-School

Friday was a Big Day at the pre-school associated with my church.  Even though the temperature was approaching 70 degrees and sunny, it was Winter.   A whole load of snow was delivered to the space between the sanctuary and the playground, where it was piled up in mounds for the children.  There were two bales of hay to serve as artificial hills, there were plenty of brightly-colored plastic sleds, and there there were children in jackets and snow shoes and boots.

It was Snow Day.

Did I mention that it was approaching 70 outside?

I come from a snowy land far north from where I am serving now.  I have to admit that, while watching the children I felt both misty-eyed and surreal.  I could have been wearing shorts.  But in front of me, children were playing in the snow, making snowballs and hitting each other, sliding down the hills millions of times, eating snow (is this universal?),  laughing and even (I thought I imagined) making snow angels.

I wasn't dressed appropriately, but I found myself wanting to get down in the snow and show them how you make a snow angel.

These children never see snow.  They don't get snow in this part of Texas.  At least, if they do, something is Seriously Wrong.   I have heard (but have not yet experienced it) that they get occasional ice storms.  But no snow.

I have been around snow my whole life, but it has been a few years since I experienced the fun of it.  I am not a winter sports aficionado.  I'm not great at ice skating, and I haven't gone sledding for a number of years.  The morning activities took me back to the big sledding hills of my youth, when winter was still fun:  snow forts and big hills and yes, even snow angels.  Now all I can think of is slipping on ice, shoveling out, the perils of driving, the nuisance and the danger.

I had forgotten the joy.

It was a teachable moment that morning:  for the children who do not have the opportunity see, touch, to taste snow.  But it was a teachable moment for me too, for me who so often forgets to wonder, to see, to taste joy which really is the elixir of life.  I am not talking about happiness, that elusive pursuit, but joy, as in "the joy of the Lord is our strength."

Joy does not deny the reality of storms, or shoveling out, of slipping on ice.  But still joy takes the moment to rip paper from Christmas packages, to dance in church, to taste snow,  to make a snow angel.

The joy of the Lord is our strength, which is why we need children, not relegated off to the side, but in the middle of our lives.