Breathing in Spring at Easter by Lynn J Simpson

Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labour or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendour was dressed like one of these. Luke 12:27

There's a greenhouse just a five minute drive from my home. Not a greenhouse in a traditional sense as it is open year around with a restaurant serving organic greens and gluten-free treats, and gift galleries that change with the calendar celebrations.

Christmas time fills the floor with decorative trees and already overflowing shelves with ornaments, wreaths, and garland.

Approaching Valentine's Day more red and white candles, silk and real roses rest on bursting shelves of trinkets, jewels, and framed mottos.

At Easter, pops of pastel colours normally adorn the interior design with baby blue vases, soft pink stuffed bunnies, and sun set orange ribboned baskets.

Last year at this time, I remember walking past all this splendour in the greenhouse into another room unseen from the entry. And all my senses refreshed in a humidity that seemed to steam from the hundreds of cacti plants that rested on shelves against the walls, stood in tall pots in the corners, and were aesthetically arranged on round tables creating a centre aisle.

And I breathed.

I breathed in this place where not a ribbon or jewel or ornament occupied.

I stepped slowly scanning the various cactus plants, some barely two inches in length, some warped in their roundness, others gangly in their tallness. Some bodies plentiful with spines, others edged with scattered thorns.



And it was all so beautiful, in it's rawness, it's unadorned form.

What was it that drew me to this place where beauty and refreshment comes from the misshapen, the undressed? Where symmetry isn't and where thorns are exposed?

Maybe it was the stirring in me from a restlessness for that perfect place of ancestry, in a Garden where all was perfect, nothing hidden until tampered by temptation.

Maybe it was the stirring in me to remember, to be, to come exposed, scars, wounds, prickles, and thorns, no adornments that mask.

Because we are all so most beautiful, my darling, in our raw, unadorned form.

You are altogether beautiful, my darling; there is no flaw in you. Song of Songs 4:7

Hallelujah, everyone

Everyone can come to the cross

It doesn't matter what you've done

Everyone can come to the cross

Come to the Cross by Michael W. Smith 

Lynn J. Simpson understands the need

for creating spaces for rest, renewal, and

transformation. She’s rarely without her

camera, capturing breathing spaces to

share. She’s published Breathing Spaces: A

21-Day Journal of Rest, Reflection and Renewal

and 30-Day Journal of Thankfulness,

Success & Joy, and contributed to Short

and Sweet Too (Grace Publishing, 2017).

Read Lynn’s musings on faith, hope, and

love on her blog (lynnjsimpson.com).