Lala, our dog, sleuths out the area under a tree in the yard, and I’m on the other end of her leash, so I guess I’m going with her. Animals and babies slow us, making us notice our surroundings; there’s no rushing what they think is important.
The tree stands naked, and I picture the death of those leaves months ago. I see the ground, still covered by their memory. The pain of their loss is something I’m used to. They died of natural causes; autumn claimed them. But wait. Buds pop from the branches of that tree, I see now as I’m standing under it. And it means life.
Newness has come.
Another tree stands naked, and I picture the death of a man almost two-thousand years ago. I see women, His friends, heading to His new resting place. The pain of His loss is not something they’re used to. He died of unnatural causes; hatred killed him. But wait. Emptiness shines from that grave, they see now as they enter it. And it means Life.
Newness has come!
*Names in this blog have been changed to protect my family and friends in the neighborhood, and in a nod of appreciation to the beloved Swedish author Maj Lindman, I’ve renamed my three blondies Flicka, Ricka, and Dicka.