Spring is appearing in various guises all over the northern hemisphere. Here in southern Arizona, various cacti are blooming spectacularly. It’s difficult for me to choose which route to walk each morning, because I want to check in on various plants that are showing buds, and I know that if I walk one way, I might miss the single day of magnificence that’s showing up in another area of my large neighborhood.

Every blossom is a gift of grace, an evocation of the creator. Extravagant blooms erupt from plants that, for much of the year, appear dull, spiny, and unwelcoming. The same can be true with us. As the daily grind wears us down in various ways, we can become gloomy, grumpy, and prickly. We might not welcome a surprise gift from the Spirit because it comes wrapped in the too-muchness of everyday life.

I wrote a poem that speaks to this process:

Sea of rough stones,

mounds of slim spines,

endless beigeness

briefly broken:

Easter colors,

fragile flamelets,

rise from knolls of

prickly prisons.

Bees come flocking,

heart keeps pounding,

soul takes snapshots

for the long drought.

Fortunately, the creator keeps offering divine grace, day after day, in way after way. Whether it’s a flower which blooms for only a single day, or a smile that blossoms for just a moment on the face of a fellow Zoom meeting attendee, we receive enough grace to keep us going.

We are also invited to become evocations of that grace ourselves, to bring it forth in our own lives and evoke it in others. Last week, I began a series in what I’m calling an Eastertide Garden of the Heart. Today’s word-seeds are grace, becoming, and evocation. We all receive grace to begin again. We can make the choice to blossom with fiery spectacle or bristle with painful spines.

We can choose to embrace Easter joy and evoke in others. How might you do that today?

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