Maybe it was the ten days I spent on the Mediterranean coast in February, but I wasn't craving spring yet when it showed up. The daffodils started smiling and nodding at me from the side of the road long before I thought to look for them. And the first violet? I didn't have to seek her out; she came to me in the fist of my favorite 12-year-old, and she didn't come alone.
The violets are everywhere, generously sprinkled outside my workplace, a pool of purple by the gate where I live. And I'm reminded of a God who gives grace upon grace. I'm not in survival mode; in the midst of chaos and clamor, I'm thriving. How many times have I heard it said, "He gives grace not just to endure, but to enjoy"? How many times have I said it to others? How many times have I grit my teeth and just endured?
But now by his grace I'm newly alive, facing greater challenges but somehow loving my life and my calling more than ever, convinced that he withholds no good thing.
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