Journal Entry: Newly Sprung, Part 2

The latest from the handwritten log, or "nlog", of the happenings, prayers, and thoughts of my life.

Sat, April 9

Spring has officially arrived. Today I celebrated by cheering at the Goose Creek 5K for the fourth consecutive year, eating our community brunch, playing football in the rain, playing cards outside a coffee shop. And now I'm flopped on my belly on my quilt in my backyard, surrounded by violets – and by students, similarly situated, studying, resting, pursuing the Lord.

Have I mentioned that I love my life? Have I mentioned how fulfilled I am right now in my calling? This past week was busier, if possible, than the one before, and the grace to enjoy has been as thickly distributed as these violets.

I prefer nlogging to blogging, but I'd like it even better if it provided a simple way to upload relevant images, such as these:

Happiness is...

...hammocking in the park on a Sunday afternoon.

Especially when it follows some good Food-n-Fellowship (including an Easter egg hunt in which I decided to make a tradition of hunting violets instead).

Speaking of violets, the day after bemoaning their absence I found one! I was dashing back and forth cleaning up our community lunch so could only pause to cry "There you are!", snatch her up, and slip her into my Bible for safekeeping (as it happens, right next to God saying, "Open wide your mouth and I will fill it").

And here are Violets #2, 3, 4, & 5...


...and #s 6-15...


...and Karina sniffing #16.

On the Brain, Part II

The other theme in my mobile photo library.

More daffydills

When the carpet cleaners parked me in I made lemonade, so to speak, by taking a walk to the park. I asked this little tuft of grass to let me make a ring out of it, and to prove its undying devotion it complied, the whiff of wild onion upon being twisted and torn its olfactory equivalent to "Oh, happy dagger!"

A meeting in the basement? On a day like today?

I started blogging after I discovered the first violet this time last year and, as usual, couldn't keep quiet about it. For years that first blossom has become synonymous to me of our hope and God's faithfulness.

Last year the first violet caught me completely by surprise. This year my blogiversary came and went, followed by the first day of spring, and I've been keeping my eyes peeled. This has resulted in some clumsy walks and a discovery of quite a bit of dog poop in my neighborhood, but my hope remains deferred. No purple head peeks out by the sidewalk, the tree root, the bush.

Still, my hope is in Him and He's faithful, whether or not those sweet little reminders appear. Silly of me to look for the sign instead of the source.

Anyway, spring seems to have arrived without the violets.

First Day of Spring

"Our Lord has written the promise of the resurrection,
not in books alone, but in every leaf in spring-time."
- Martin Luther

"Daffodils were sunbeams in a previous life
and will be lemon cupcakes in the next."
- me

Winter may remain for a time, but rejoicing comes in the spring.

Daffodils are not far off.

First Violet

This morning I discovered the year's first violet.

She wasn't a very brave violet, probably because she was alone. She had hardly opened up, and I almost missed her crouching there by the sidewalk in Missy's front yard.

The first violet of spring is like a gift to me. Some years I look for it, going from house to office and office to car and car to classroom with my eyes for once in the present, scanning any patch of grass for a glimpse of purple. Other years, like this one, the first violet sneaks up on me, startling me with hope.

Every year the violets come. Every morning the sun rises. Some winters seem to last forever, but eventually snow gives way to sunshine every time. And my God is forever as sure as the dawn.

I know I ought to let them live full, happy lives, but for years the first violets have found new homes between the pages of Psalms or Hosea or Song of Solomon. Today's violet may read less truth on her wallpaper, but it seemed fitting to slip her between my hand-written ramblings of hopes deferred, of promises certainly coming but yet to be fulfilled, of longings that linger like a Wisconsin winter.