On the Saturday before Palm Sunday, a metal post-driver landed on my head. I’m still not sure just how that driver jumped off the post I was pounding and took its revenge on my noggin.
A visit to the Clarke County Hospital ER, kind attention from the medical staff, four small scalp staples and a tetanus shot later, I was pretty much back to normal. I’d gone out that afternoon to set six posts, three-quarter inch pipes really, to serve as mounts for six bluebird houses. Despite an imminent winter storm forecast — more blowing snow and icy roads — I was determined to get those bluebird houses up, to enjoy that ritual of spring. I was in protest against a winter lingering too long. I wanted to feel spring.
We who know the privilege of living in rural Iowa, who experience close-up the cycle of seasonal changes, recognize the rhythms of God’s creation as the rhythms of our own hearts. The lengthening daylight, the warming breezes and the gentle rains of spring stir our slumbering spirits. Nesting birds, blooming tulips, leafing trees and greening grasses lift our hearts in newly found praise of the God of all life. In the words of the psalmist, “How varied are your works, Lord! In wisdom you have wrought them all; the earth is full of your creatures” (Psalm 104, v. 24).
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