Saturday, April 12, 2014

Saturday, April 12, 2014 - 2 comments

He Has Dealt Bountifully With Me

One of my best friends has a tradition of scanning the ground each spring for The First Violet and celebrating its long-awaited appearance.  I've got my own version of this post-winter ritual of anticipation.  Every time I go for a walk or a run, I keep my eyes peeled for a particular purple beauty.  Weed or wildflower, I'm not really sure, but they're my very favourite part of spring here.  (Bonus points and a cup of coffee to anyone who can help me figure out what they're called.  Googling "spiny purple flower" hasn't gotten me any answers!)  

When I first encountered their delicate spindles, they were fairly easy to find - not as abundant as daisies or poppies, but I could always count on at least one or two for my on-the-way-home bouquet.  But with new apartment buildings going up around the neighbourhood seemingly every other month, empty lots and patches of wildflowers are becoming more and more of a rarity.  This spring, when the daisies started appearing, I looked all around for them, and upon not finding any, I resigned myself to the sad fact that urban sprawl had meant the demise of my little purple lovelies.

And then, one day last week, in the middle of an olive grove, half-hidden amidst a stand of tall grass, there it was:  one perfect purple flower!  One of MY flowers!  I brought it home and set it in a glass amongst a chorus of daisies, and it stood proudly long after the daisies died.  I wanted to make it last, knowing that by next year, if the city planners have their way, there might not be any more dirt roads or empty lots or purple flowers.

A few days ago, I was on my way to visit a friend, and as I turned up her lane, a huge smile crept onto my face.  There, on the side of the road amongst the daisies and the poppies, were my purple flowers.  Not just two or three, but dozens of them.  I picked myself a whole bouquet, now declaring boldly from my bookshelf a fresh-picked message I desperately needed this week:  that just when something already so rare seems to be gone for good, a whole field-full might be right around the corner.  Hope need not be in short supply when the One who specializes in 'abundance' is at work.

The same generous Hand that caused water to flow from a rock, deposited a baby in hundred-year-old arms and filled hungry bellies with loaves and fishes still spreads tables in the wilderness.  

He has truly dealt bountifully with me.