I wrote a note to my good friend last week. Everything else was packed except these blank notecards so I decided to draw a little picture on the front. I should definitely make a habit of this.
The image was not a new one. I drew it on Ash Wednesday a few years back as I was emerging out of a new baby fog and admiring my new wings as a mother of two. It seemed appropriate again, this picture of rebirth.
The old must die so that the new might live.
I’ve been repeating this to myself this week, my way of desperately trying to make lemonade out of all these sour lemon goodbyes.
Does the flower bloom solely with intent to die, seed, and flower again? What would it look like if I bloomed to such a purpose?
Life is full of these uncomfortable transformations, making chrysalises out of new relationships, new jobs, new schedules, kids, moves, deaths, and anything else you could possibly imagine. Lucky for us our God is in the business of resurrection, hmm?
There have been a lot of little deaths this week. And so I’ll hold on to my front row seat and wait for the life.