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At 3 A.M., I woke with this consoling dream:

It’s early spring, moist, fresh greening everywhere. I’m healthy, tanned, and stand tall, soft winds teasing my short white hair. I decide to shop for a new outfit to honor the season and step inside a Women’s Boutique. Inside, most of the clothing is made of the same wide striped light green and white fabric, billowy in texture. I’m thrilled. The barrette on the matching hat also draws customers’ interest. I’m delighted by my selection of the dress and hat.

Another glimpse into my psyche shows more healing of my femininity, one that is pure gift from Higher Power, despite periodic episodes of grief.

Do you love me? – John 21: 15

It happened again in my barren flower bed: through heaps of graying mulch resembling a ghost town with abandoned mine shafts emerged the solitary gold crocus, its glossy petals yearning for the sun, its striped blades greening in March breezes.

What is unique about this blooming is its recurrence, in the same place, for the past nine years, thwarting winter’s bite and jumpstarting spring’s promise.

Ecstatic by the splash of fresh color, gladness peaks, and I give thanks. 

If Creator God enlivens this solitary gold crocus, year after year…

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