Life from death.
Spring from Winter.
At one time, I hated it when anyone would compare the arrival of Spring and it's verdant new growth with the resurrection of Jesus Christ. How could they trivialize the eternal significance of the Savior's triumph over death by comparing it, essentially, with tulips?
But the decades of living since then and, probably, changes in my now-middle-aged brain circuitry have given me a softer perspective. I've lightened up.
Now, each Spring, I become enraptured with the beautiful explosion of life and green that surrounds me as brown withered branches, vines and sod erupt with pulpy newness. One word reverberates in my mind as I witness this metamorphosis of landscape and garden: Miracle.
I am no longer disdainful of beautiful echos.
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