A Wasteland Turning

“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad; the desert shall rejoice and blossom like the crocus; it shall blossom abundantly and rejoice with joy and singing.” Isaiah 35:1-2

There’s a crocus in the garden
It’s hiding in the snow
The ground is white and barren
Who knew life lay below?
Unlikeliest of cradles
A birth against the odds
Golden are its petals 
And all the earth applauds. 

Why plant me in this ground, I cry
I want to stretch my legs
Where is life within this plot? 
I am miserable in my lot.

Snow is not what I expected
Gold to blossom from
Green grass I would have betted
Flowers to come from.

My birthday was around the corner and my older kids were writing me stories and drawing me pictures, per request. When I walked past them, their eyes would twinkle and they would cover up their gifts with their hands. Lucy would tell Moses how to spell the hard words in his story. Lisette and Olive scribbled in a fury, pelting their paper with gusto. Even baby Swede crawled with extra speed at the flurry of activity. The anticipation of gift giving was almost tangible. 

As parents do, I gushed over the neon dino and mermaid saga. It wasn’t because their art revealed a future Picasso or Nobel Prize winner. I oohed and ahhed because their art told a story. A story about them that was given to me. I delighted in their gifts because I delight in them. I held their crayon and pencil smudges and saw love. 

I sense Jesus asking for my words, imperfect as they will be. I have avoided writing for a long time, in fear of what other people might think. I don’t want to produce anything less than perfect and my weakness, sin, and incomplete understanding will inevitably be part of my writing. So, in risk of revealing my short-sightedness and tendency towards sentimentality, I will write anyhow. 

Isaiah 35 has shaped the title, A Wasteland Turning. Speaking to fearful people, Isaiah reminds them that the desert will not always remain a desert.  Already, Spring is at work and the crocus bears her golden head. Life will be wilderness until Jesus returns to take His people home, but I want to spot the miracles sprouting from the snow.