Today I woke to a day that had already been touched by sunshine. It was a beautiful spring, crisp, cool morning. With the heat of the sun sparkling on my window, and awakening the earth for another day. I was thankful for my rest last night after a late night helping out at our youth fellowship ‘Pursuit’, after a busy week from everyday life as a mother, wife, daughter, and administrator, after trials with my mental health.
I woke to the sounds of my daughters giggling and tickling, as they chose which of us to wake first, with my husband lying in bed beside me curled up fast asleep, unaware of the goings on.
But as I strolled down our hall after getting showered and my “5 more minutes” in bed that I coaxed my husband into allowing when he finally woke. I felt fresh, marginally exhausted but happy at the beautiful day I was about to see as I opened the curtains, and swung wide the windows of our home.
Then I stumbled into a table (which happens often due to my clumsiness) and noticed a bouquet of my favourite flowers given to me this week by a loving friend had bloomed, each and every daffodil on the bunch had bloomed into vibrant array of yellow spring flowers, which screamed hope!
Daffodils have always been a favourite of mine, I remember picking them for my mother as a young child when the spring came in around Mother’s Day, they remind me of good weather coming, and of stunning fields covered in little sprigs of yellow. But as I have gotten older I have realised in quite a harsh reality that life is hard, life can be tough but this flower represents hope. It symbolises new life, and new birth.
Today after a long week, a trial some week, I am thankful for two specific things, my good friend who loves me at my worst, and is happy to be a friend to someone who doesn’t do vulnerability well, but tries hard, and for daffodils, a flower that reminds me of a hope that rose from the grave more than 2000 years ago. A man who loves me immeasurably, and God who created me lovingly, and a spirit that guides me gently.