It’s daffodil season.
Earth, bare and brown from the winter’s rest, has sprouted with bursts of bright green and yellow. Daffodils are delightfully unpredictable. Sometimes they pop up where they were carefully planted; in a bed or along a fence line. Other times they spring up in a field, or a grove of trees, a splash of color in an unexpected place.
A daffodil is a herald of hope. A flower, draped in the very color of the sun itself, trumpeting the arrival of a new season. A messenger of a coming time promising warmth and renewal, a blessed relief from the dark and cold of the long winter.
Its beauty might suggest a frailty, yet that is not so for the daffodil. It is made of sturdy stuff. It stands tall in response to the call of the warm spring sun, but it comes in a time of transition. Spring is coming, but Winter has not yet loosened its icy grip.
It is not uncommon to see early daffodils cloaked in a mantle of snow, their yellow heads peeking out from under hats of fluffy white. March winds whip at these brave little flowers, tossing their cheerful crowns to and fro with the last breath of winter.
But they were made to stand, rooted in their places. They were made to withstand the elements that would freeze or uproot a more delicate flower.
Daffodils are a timely reminder of our own purpose.
Each of us, a herald of hope to a dark and weary world. We are trumpeters proclaiming a living Hope, reflecting the very Son himself, bright bursts of color to tell the world that Jesus has come and is coming back again.
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