I was at the family farm near Bradford, Texas, recently. My wife’s family has been on the property since 1845! The creek that runs through the land carries her surname—Landis. I can show you crossing areas where the original inhabitants crossed the creek to go to “town.” There are native mounds on the backside of the acreage. I have fished and explored down there for thirty-five years.
I enjoy the winter because it allows the undergrowth to die back, and one can actually see far into the woods. This time of year, the growth comes roaring into bloom, and soon there will be no view much beyond the tree line. But with every drawback comes a blessing, and among the gifts are the trees that bloom.
Dogwoods have begun their silent miracle. Underneath the giant pines, the smaller dogwoods lift their blooms like small white lights scattered throughout the woods. Each bloom is as delicate as an alabaster butterfly. Sometimes the blossoms look pure white, like sun-dried linen, and other times they are a delicate pink, as if the evening sunset has touched them. All the blooms are gold in the center, but the petals are what tell the story and cause the tree to glow in the shadows.
I love to walk the woods watching the blooms flutter and shimmer like the leaves of aspen trees in the Rockies. If I am lucky while walking the woods, I will happen upon a redbud tree—smaller but strikingly beautiful, with its magenta-red-purple blooms preceding the leaves and announcing that the seasons are changing.
Did you know that the simple and small dogwood of the South is connected to a crucifixion legend? As the story goes, the dogwood was once a huge and strong tree, and its wood was chosen for the cross of Jesus. The tree was ashamed that its lumber was used as an instrument of death. Seeing the sorrow of the tree, God decided that the dogwood would never again grow large enough to be used for an old rugged cross. From then on, the tree has been small, twisted, and gnarly, but its blossoms are a reminder of the crucifixion. Now, when the blossoms appear, they have four petals shaped like a cross, and sometimes the edges of the blooms are stained light red. The gold in the center resembles a crown of thorns, and the tiny red flecks in the snowy petals look like drops of blood. Isn’t it amazing that the dogwoods bloom prior to Easter?
And so, at our West Texas farm, every year spring reminds me that time moves on and that a new day consistently comes. I am reminded that just as dormant woods awaken each year, the heart can refresh with a new season. What we once thought of as gray and colorless can become a kaleidoscope of color as life breaks through despair. Just when I think life has bottomed out, the trees bloom, the robins return, bluebonnets rise, and my soul is restored.
And off in those ancient woods, I hear:
“I am the resurrection and the life.”
