The desert and the parched land will be glad;
    the wilderness will rejoice and blossom.
Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom;
    it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy. – Isaiah 35-1-2

Tuesday evening, standing over the kitchen sink and halfway through the dishes, I looked outside and noticed something inviting about the light. It had been a busy day involving details and set-backs and playing catch-up with my writing, and I still had a lot to do. But I took the hint, picked up my camera, and headed into the garden. I’m glad that I did.

Rebekah and I are nowhere near where we want to be when it comes to moving the garden towards our vision, but this year we do have a smattering of hopeful blooms. And what the flowers do is to stand like a visual promise that anything is possible, and everything planted in love will take root. They couldn’t have come at a better time.

Sometimes it seems like weeds, and decay, and thorns, and poison ivy have the upper hand. But then – and always in response to a surge of hard work and a step or two of faith – a random bloom comes out and then another as if to remind us of hope.

Believing that calls for faithful action:

The kind of faith God asks of us isn’t the kind that sits back and does nothing on the expectation that God will step in and do what we’re unwilling to do ourselves. No, what God asks is that we love him, that we respond to God’s initiatives of grace with creativity and joy, and that we come up with a mustard-seed grain of belief.

Then we see that hope, and promise, and love all bloom where we bring as much light as we can muster.

So I grabbed a few images of this particular message of hope from around the garden.

Enjoy – DEREK

blooming grandchildren

miniature rose

iris

other iris

clementis

helleborus

iris

Japanese maple