When we moved into our current house, we didn’t know what was planted around it. The next spring, we were pleasantly surprised to find crocuses bursting through the soil right outside the front door. White, yellow, purple; faces trustingly open to the sky.

Shortly after this revelation in our front yard, I read Isaiah 35 and found this (v. 1-2a):

“The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy.”

At the time, I was mostly struck by the fact that God cared enough to talk about something as small as a crocus.

This spring, the crocuses came up again. After the Landscaping Apocalypse my parents had inflicted along the front of the house, I was now struck by their resiliency.

The desert and the parched land. . . the wilderness. . .

. . . will rejoice and blossom.

My world has been turned over again and again in the last few weeks. But in the parched wilderness, joy can still unexpectedly spring up–bright, lush, and shocking.

I’m standing with my face trustingly open to the sky, waiting for it to rain again.