I do much of my writing at the desk in my home office.  My desk faces windows that give a wide view of our backyard and the woods that come right up to our back fence.  When I’m bereft of ideas or when the right words escape my grasp, sometimes I stare off into those woods, watching the squirrels hop from branch to branch or I try to spot the woodpecker whose knocking tells me it must be nearby.

The time I most enjoy looking out into the woods is when the leaves just start emerging, when everything is tinged with green but nothing is yet in full leaf.  I love that special hue of green that hints at leaves even when you can’t quite make out the buds themselves.

Having spent most of my life in Western New York makes this first blush of spring seem especially beautiful.  It is not only a promise of a warm and verdant summer; it’s a reward for having endured long months staring at barren branches and the leaf-strewn scrub of undergrowth.

The other day I was staring out the window looking at nothing in particular, struggling to write a not-too-lousy sermon, when I had a realization about the green woods I so enjoy.  I realized that these trees, now so fully leafed out that the woodpecker has all the advantages in our little game of hide and seek, are the exact same woods that seemed so bleak just a few weeks ago.

It came to me that the leaves were there, ready to emerge at the right time, even though they were hidden for a season.  The same trees, seen through the same windows from the same perspective, and yet a transformed vista.

There are seasons of our lives when we look at our circumstances — or at ourselves — and all that is visible seems barren and forlorn.  It gives no impression of ever having been alive and certainly no hints that it is waiting to bloom.

And yet, when we least expect it, we spy a hint of green from the corner of our eye.

Prayer:  Author of Life, you cause new growth to emerge from the places in our lives that we had given up for dead.  Give us vision to see the signs of life, and faith to see the promise hidden in barren seasons.  Amen.