In quiet moments during this day, I’ve thought about the Word of life.
The Master of the Garden said;
“Who, now the Earth seems cold and dead,
Will by his fearless witnessing
Hold men’s hearts for the tardy spring?”
“Not yet. I am but half awake,”
All drowsily the Primrose spake.
And fast the sleeping Daffodils
Had folded up their golden frills.
“Indeed,” the frail Anemone
Said softly, “’tis too cold for me.”
Wood Hyacinths, all deeply set,
Replied: “No ice has melted yet.”
When suddenly, with smile so bright,
Up sprang a Winter Aconite,
And to the Master joyfully
She cried: “I will the witness be.”
I love the word picture … God checking in with creation … seeking a witness that spring will return … I can see the “Winter Aconite” raising her hand … me, me, pick me! I will the witness be!
That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we have looked at and our hands have touched—this we proclaim concerning the Word of life. ~1 John 1:1
I’m not an apologist, but I am a witness of the spiritual reality of our God who walks and talks with me.
I come to the garden alone,
While the dew is still on the roses;
And the voice I hear, falling on my ear,
The Son of God discloses.
He speaks, and the sound of his voice
Is so sweet the birds hush their singing;
And the melody that he gave to me
Within my heart is ringing.
And he walks with me, and he talks with me,
And he tells me I am his own,
And the joy we share as we tarry there,
None other has ever known.