The Joyful Now

Hellebore. Also known as the Lenten Rose.

In the past few weeks, this notoriously unreliable world has shifted into a dark and dangerous place.

Russian tanks roll through the streets of Ukraine and terrorize her citizens. 

My husband is dealing with some serious medical issues.

The Seattle Seahawks have dropped both Russell Wilson and Bobby Wagner.

It's hard to say which of those developments is most upsetting to me. Together, they drop me to my knees. 

I want more than anything to curl up into a ball, close myself off from everyone and everything, and sit alone in the darkness.

I know. That's not a helpful reaction. But that's honestly how I feel.

But one more thing has happened this week.

My hellebores are blooming. 

From their tight, round buds, in the quiet grey of March, rosy pink flowers have burst forth. Their golden anthers blaze like shooting stars. They challenge the end of winter with their cheery cheeks, and every day I stop by their corner of the garden to admire their sunny smiles.

They likely feel broken-hearted by the sad events of these past weeks. Everyone does. 

They don't know what's going to happen tomorrow. No one does.

But my hellebores are living in the glory of this moment. They don't look back in sadness, nor do they give a moment's concern to the future. 

They live in the joyful now.

And they inspire me to do the same.