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Snow Rose


It’s a hopeful heart that looks for a rose in January, or so I’ve heard. Roses are out there even if it means taking a trip to the grocery’s cooler to find them. Not that roses are harbingers of spring, but they’re living proof that somewhere the climate is warm! I’ve been ready for spring since last November. Does that make me provincial? Not really. It’s just that I planted 75 tulip bulbs, and they’re my first ones ever. Looking out the window at the frozen, snow-covered ground makes their reality seem impossible.

When I was early in my first pregnancy (I wish I had written down exactly how few weeks pregnant I was because no one believed what I’m about to say was possible, and I hate it when I’m not believed) . . . I was working around my apartment after an already busy day on my paid job, rushing the vacuum through every room, pushing and pulling the cantankerous thing with all my might before I finally finished. It took a lot to make me nap, but before starting dinner I laid down in the recliner and stretched backward. When I had completely settled myself and lay still, something moved: the faintest touch, like the tip end of a feather brushing across the inside of the small mound that was beginning to replace my flat tummy. A little wisp of feeling, traveling from one side to the other. It was quite foreign, definitely not me but somehow a part of me, like a brushstroke of awe for the life I couldn’t see. Hebrew 11:1 says, “Faith is confidence in what we hope for what and assurance about what we do not see.”


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