Every year, as winter turns to spring, I begin to look to our garden. On the first day when the sun shines with warmth, and the temperature rises at least a few degrees above freezing, I go outside and look for them—the little yellow flowers that are always the first to bloom. The crocuses and daffodils show up in April, the tulips in May, and the irises in June. But these are March flowers or, in an especially warm year, even February.
They must be hardy little things, for they bloom at a time of year when the temperature lurches and swings like a drunk—warm and bright one day, but gray and cold the next. There are often still stretches of snow at this time, so they sometimes get buried beneath the drifts. Yet when the sun returns and the snow melts, there they are, still yellow and bright, and still bringing their little bit of cheer. In their own way, they portend the end of winter and the coming of spring. They are a little deposit, a little down payment, a little bit of assurance of better days to come.
There are many impressive plants in this world and many splendid creatures. There are views, scenes, and landscapes that are almost too beautiful to behold. But few things move me more deeply than a Christian who holds joyfully steadfast under severe trial. Few things are more supernatural than a person who knows the Lord’s providence has directed a great loss, yet who continues to love and serve him all the more. True faith is especially vivid and beautiful when it takes the form of unshakable joy.
True faith is especially vivid and beautiful when it takes the form of unshakable joy.
My travels have introduced me to a great many people who have suffered the loss of a child, a great many who have lost a spouse, and a great many who grapple with physical trials that rarely ebb and never completely heal. What a blessing it is when they acknowledge their pain but also acknowledge God’s goodness, when they prove they are sorrowful yet rejoicing, when they go on trusting in the God who makes no mistakes. Though they are in agony of body or spirit, still they praise the Lord and proclaim his glories. Though they are broken, they rejoice; though they are heartbroken, they worship; though they have been brought low, they lift their voices high.
Such people are like the little yellow flowers that adorn my garden even when the calendar still says “winter.” Just as the least warmth causes those flowers to push their way into the sunlight to spread their cheer, the least evidence of God’s goodness causes these people to rejoice. Just as these flowers live on beneath the banks of snow, the joy of these people lives on beneath the trials and struggles. Just as these flowers foreshadow the coming of spring, the faith of these people foreshadows the coming of that time when every sorrow will be swept away, when faith will give way to sight, and when joy will reign forever. Their joy is nothing less than heaven’s own joy, blooming ahead of its time, and assuring us that before long, the cold of winter will give way to an endless summer.
