I really thought with a later-than-usual Easter this year that I would have a celebration filled with beautiful flowers and green leaves on the trees.

The cold weather, though, has made the daffodils slow to bloom, and the tree buds are only now shaking off their winter slumber and beginning to awaken.

At first I was disappointed by spring’s tardiness, but then today I realized what a beautiful sermon the yet-to-bloom daffodils were preaching to me.

For this is Holy Saturday, a day where we are called to ponder Christ’s death, sit with the grief, let tears of loss — no matter how fresh or stale those tears are — flow freely. We are being asked not to run so quickly to better, happier times, as our society tends to do.

There is much growth to experience in the mourning. There is something powerful in being able to patiently wait for rebirth, resurrection and renewal.

The daffodils have yet to bloom. And that’s okay. For they are whispering to me to have patience and are inviting me to simply sit with God and let God’s grace wipe away whatever tears I still need to shed.

For God hasn’t forgotten us in our times of loss, defeat or just sheer exhaustion. God is working on our new days — our Easter mornings, where the light of daybreak reveals the amazing truth we need to hold on to now and always: All is not lost. Death, destruction and doom do not win. God’s word of love for all will be the final word.

Sunday is coming…