Springtime calls her children…

“…there are sailing ships that pass
all our bodies in the grass,
Springtime calls her children
’til she lets them go at last…”

March in Rusk County has been the proverbial lion and roared forth in Springtime blossoms of bright white, blazing red, and royal purple.

Though our mornings yet remain quite cool, the afternoons act as prelude for a hot and heavy East Texas summer still to come. Warm enough to enjoy the outdoors, without the oppressive swelter of Julius and Augustus the lesser.

I think it is in this season, far more than others, where a redemptive understanding of our tiny place in Creation is most apparent.

Our small portion of the earth, having awoken from its long Winter slumber of grays and brown, slate cold mornings and howling nights, is supplanted with a fresh renewal. Growth. Green. A million vermillion Wildflowers scattered along the roadside. Bluebonnets waft in the breezes, low-hanging Wisteria envelops my yard and house in its savory perfume.

Spring emerges out of the fragrant mists and foggy dew of chilly mornings, shrubs and once-dry fields are enflamed with brilliant colors and burning deep greenery. On dewy-eyed mornings the trees breathe wet, with drop-dappled branches overhanging the firmament.

Taking time this past weekend to walk a bit out in the wide-open fields and meadows of our fair county, I was quickly come to a point of contemplation of the symbolism of the seasons. How the fade in and out from one to the next in a subtle, yet gradual parade of sensual nuance.

In all of this, though, is a solemn testimony. A testimony to something far transcendent than mere phase transition of matter.

As Spring and Summer will quickly fade into Autumn and Winter, vigorous life will soon fade into indolent death and terrible judgment.

In reading my rambling words, are you now young, fresh, and full of life? Praise GOD, for you may Repent now and receive Grace young enough to live a long life to His glory.

Of whatever regret I might be able to summon, the chief would be that I lived so many years without glorifying my Lord with any of them. Hours spent in vain and idle pursuit of lust and vanity.

Wastrel youth, commit your days of youth with higher pursuits that you may shine with His blessings.

Even still, you are not promised many days, and many a young life is nipped while still yet to bloom. If you have a mind to think upon this, weigh it heavily in your thoughts, for to none of us is the hour of our passing revealed.

Are you, as I am, seeing your youthful beauty fade with each turn of the seasons?

Are you, as I am, feeling the first cold shackles of aging and inevitable death coming upon your once glorious facade?

Are you, as I am, watching an errant silver strand multiply into dappled patches of graying hair, where once your tresses were as flawless as you believed your conscience to be?

Oh, how my years have already passed much quicker than I ever imagined they could! But yet, I hope my best days yet remain ahead of me. So do we all.

If you have wisdom to consider this, consider it with the extent of your depths, for without Him your days will only grow longer and despair creep in and steal your joy.

Are you among the hoary-headed elders? Praise God, for you have already lived a long life and our gracious Father has blessed you with many days.

Tragedy and disaster (though they might have wounded you) have not stopped your walk through this life. Still, you have been given another season in which to lay claim to a far higher station than whatever you have attained in your years. Seize your day!

You should know, far better than I, how quickly ones life can pass before their very eyes. If you do not know your Savior at this very hour, you are but on the precipice of the Abyss. The Angel of Death looms over you even now and, at that foreordained moment, will hew you down like late Autumn wheat.

If you have breath to speak, I implore you to Repent and hold fast to the Savior. Even as the hour of your death draws near, so too does your hour of judgment.

As our season has turned again, toward the freshness and delights of new birth and renewal, it is but a pale reminder of a Lion yet to come.

He that shall make all things new.

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