On my morning walks, when I pass the California and Grove street corner,
I remember the yellow tulips. One spring fifteen years ago, where the sidewalks meet, dozens
of bright cups of color stood. The fall before, someone dug holes and carefully
placed wrinkled bulbs. After a long wait through the cold, the spring warmth nurtured
the bulbs into blooms. That year, they must have matched the pictures in the
catalog. Every gardener knows how rarely that happens. Ordinary gardeners in imperfect
conditions can’t match the professionals.
But those tulips met expectations. They spoke of God’s perfection.
God is no ordinary gardener. Though we are undisciplined children, he is
capable of bringing us to perfection. We may feel like wrinkled bulbs, rotting
underground. He, however, knows we are flower bulbs, waiting for the warmth and
water, which he will provide.
Are we struggling with eating? Are we grieving a loss? Are we
screaming at our preschoolers? Whatever darkens our hearts, we can hope for God’s
springtime. God will send his light, as we keep straining towards it.
But it won’t always be a strain. The perfect kingdom is
coming. The tulips speak.
Father, please give us ears to hear and grace to respond.