Though they are in agony of body or spirit, still they praise the Lord and proclaim his glories. Though they are broken, they rejoice; though they are heartbroken, they worship; though they have been brought low, they lift their voices high.

Every year, as winter turns to spring, I begin to look to our garden. On the first day when the sun shines with warmth, and the temperature rises at least a few degrees above freezing, I go outside and look for them—the little yellow flowers that are always the first to bloom. The crocuses and daffodils show up in April, the tulips in May, and the irises in June. But these are March flowers or, in an especially warm year, even February.

They must be hardy little things, for they bloom at a time of year when the temperature lurches and swings like a drunk—warm and bright one day, but gray and cold the next. There are often still stretches of snow at this time, so they sometimes get buried beneath the drifts. Yet when the sun returns and the snow melts, there they are, still yellow and bright, and still bringing their little bit of cheer. In their own way, they portend the end of winter and the coming of spring. They are a little deposit, a little down payment, a little bit of assurance of better days to come.

There are many impressive plants in this world and many splendid creatures. There are views, scenes, and landscapes that are almost too beautiful to behold.

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