The wheat sways golden under a big Texas sky, its head ripening under the warming sun as summer draws near. It’s still May, and spring came late this year after a winter that kept the whole nation buried in cold longer than most could abide.
The firewheels stretch across entire fields in a patchwork of red and yellow. Never have I seen so many swirling together in that latecomer southern wind that finally swapped howdies with that blistering, biting northern that clung so tight to the earth’s curve all the plum way through March. Now I see why they first called it blanket flower.
We’ve been watching the fields rotate in the kaleidoscope of spring.
Daffodils in frilly white trumpeting spring, pink evening primrose in striped skirts,
paintbrushes gently uplifted to catch the rain, the sun, the glory,
verbena making a tidy bouquet,
prairie coneflower bowed low yet pointing ever heavenward.
Everywhere, Texas breathes in deep and exhales life.
Nathan went Home eight years ago today.
I always know it’s his time of year when the prairie coneflowers shake their skirts.
I like to think that he runs in patchwork fields with his friends laughing round about him. I like to think that they fall into heaven’s gentle curve and laugh into the warmth of His face as He delights over them. I like to think that he sees the petal creases from the underside and the legs of a ladybug tiptoeing across the leaves as he breathes in deep and exhales Life.
I like to think that spring There is something like spring here, only infinitely better since this land is but a whisper of the glory that awaits us.
We will sit around the new kitchen table tonight to eat chicken legs and okra, some zucchini, watermelon for dessert. We will look into their dark brown eyes and wonder if his are dark brown, too. We will see their sandy blonde hair and wide grins – a whisper of the glory to come. We will thank Him for carrying our first boy safely Home to grow up where there is no shadow or hurt. Only light and joy and forever goodness. We will rejoice that from There he loves us better than we could ever begin to love him while we linger still here.
This home we are making here is but a whisper of the Home that awaits us. The real Home where He will bring us — all five of us — together at His table to rejoice forever in His goodness.
The coneflower bowed low yet pointing ever heavenward to the glory that awaits us.