Saturday, April 15, 2017


Hi There !

So, I read it years ago.

All I remember is the title: Hope for the Flowers.

That I have often recalled.

Good piece of poetry that it is,

that title has spoken meanings

as varied as an English Garden

to my inner self over the years..

That was true in the first part of March.

We had the beginnings of an early Spring

with a spate of unseasonably warm days.

Our neighborhood thawed a bit.

Folks were out  talking together

and washing their cars,

kids  were out in shorts and tee shirts.

That's not all that was out.

In our front yard some crocuses pushed up

from their winter confinement

and started to open out in delightful colors.

Then the cruel, cutting winds of winter

rushed down the canyon of our streets

and got really serious about reverting to winter.

We had a for real blizzard,

over a foot of snow!!

This time the neighbors were out again,

trying to keep ahead of the snow fall.

Gone were easy conversation and kids in shorts and tee shirts.

Gone, too, the tender little crocuses,

frozen out of existence, buried in cold white.

It all seemed rather deadly and  cruel.

There was no hope for the flowers.

In the neighborhood of our world and the yards of our lives,

all sorts of good and wonderful things start to come out:

peace, cooperation, love, generosity, creativity, sharing, welcoming diversity.

Then comes the rush of cruel, cutting winds

to stunt and stymie their growth:

pettiness, jealous, incivility, narrow nationalism, insensitivity,

wholesale truth shredding, the marginalized pushed over the edge.

Frigidity sets in and we all retreat inside and close the doors.

Pretty wretched.

Not much hope for the flowers.

But in no way the end of things, either .

Enter Easter.

Easter, the definitive act that means there really is

Hope For the Flowers and all the rest of us after all,

as deadly as things may get..

Cruel, cutting winds rushed across Calvary. 

Jesus was stunted and stymied.

All the beautiful goodness he was

seemed to be completely shriveled up in death.

He was wrapped in white, entombed in defeat.

Within in him, though, was the very vitality of God.

It burst forth, broke the power of death and defeat.

Jesus blossomed out in a resurrection of love and glorious life,

eager to welcome, share  and incorporate all in that loving vitality.

There is Hope for the Flowers, and the future,

and the neighborhoods of our world, and the yards of our lives,

and all the rest of us.

So, hey, " Allelulia, Allelulia.,"

which is a rather tame way of shouting

"Holy shoot!! We're gonna make it!!,"

Enjoy the hope and the jelly beans, too!!

                  John Frank


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