Bright Rays of Hope
by Delcy Kuhlman
 On March 25, I was welcomed home from Taizé by a cacophony of frog voices from the lake. It was a loud, almost raucous sound, but as welcome as the open windows and warm breezes. The daffodils in the labyrinth proclaimed that spring and new life were here. Then winter returned.
In my long life I have, many times, seen snow on daffodils. This time it was different. The weather forecasters predicted days of record low temperatures and the news reported that our county is a disaster area because all the fruit has been destroyed. Saturday, April 7, I wakened to three inches of snow and 19 degrees. I walked the labyrinth alone that day, mourning the death of blooms not yet spent. It was not a pretty sight. The leaves were limp and the blossoms were face down into the snow. Were they crushed by the cold and snow or did they bow down to what was beyond their control? Were they marked by death or by surrender? While knowing the bulbs would not die, I figured it would be 2008 before anyone would walk among nodding blossoms.
 Two days later the sun came out and warmed the air. I was shocked to see that the blossoms revived. But the next morning was 19 degrees and everything was once more flat on the ground. I began pondering on the similarities between the flowers and my life. How often I’ve gone along, happily nodding and the next day bowed low by difficulties that seemed to overwhelm. At times the traumas of life seemed to preclude any hope of recovery. Then the Son became known by his grace-filled presence and I could begin to walk tall again.
This yin-yang continued throughout the week as my life became filled with the joys of a two-year-old granddaughter. The dilemma of the flowers was forgotten: until today, April 16. Vianne and I decided to go for a walk among the daffodils before she had to return to her home. The labyrinth is not as beautiful as it usually is during this season. That did not bother her in the least. As this tiny girl moved from blossom to blossom, smelling them, kissing them, and picking a few, I rejoiced in the metaphor of hope. Many of the blossoms are withering while many more buds are just beginning to open. It is a bit like an aging grandma and a tiny girl sharing this walk together.
 Some days I feel my age advancing and fret over work that seems yet unfinished. But Vianne reminds me that life does not depend on me. It goes on and there is hope embodied in a tiny girl and the daffodils.
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