There has never been a drearier house or a more dreary neighborhood in which this house lies. None of the children ever come out to play, if there even are any. The birds in the treetops are only nagging crows and creepy owls who never have uttered a sweet note of song in all their lives. The grass and bushes have withered and nearly died, and their color, if indeed they even posses such a luxury, is dull to say the least. There is an giant old sycamore tree on the west side of the house and great, looming pines on the east side, as well as various other leafless trees that have little color but are a simple, drab brown, without a bit of green, or even gold, or orange or red. The sun seldom makes the area any brighter, and the phantoms of rain and snow and wind are constantly present. Such the state of things seem to be-'tis winter, mean and cruel winter that, although it covers the world in a bright and beautiful blanket of snow, brings hardships to all of nature; unle
their Creator has provided them with a means of escape to another area until spring should arrive.
After a series of rains and snows and all sorts of ill weather, there sneaks out of the ground a small, green shoot, ever so cautious, ever so careful. It pushes a little higher each moment... but so extremely slow is its growing that it is not noticed by anyone. The busy, grumpy people hurry past it and the frantic squirrels scurry by. The hares never take the time to notice it, and the very earthworms under the ground push their way past it's roots as if they are only mere obstacles in their paths. The young plant struggles to spread its roots further and further, until it seems as if it has done all it can. But it has not, and still much lies ahead of it.
It is now only an inch or two high, and still no one takes note of it. Day after day it reaches for the sky and drinks in the rain. It seems as if it might just reach its full size the next day, when one of the careless humans rushes over it, crushing it entirely. It is sorely depressed and does not feel as if it could make any effort to go on. But it is reminded that nothing in nature gives up, but tries until it cannot try anymore. So, painfully righting itself and resolving never to give up, it presses on and once again reaches for the sky. Only God in His heaven knows that the little plant exists, and surely it is He who is helping the little thing along. Every day it grows a little taller, and every day it becomes a little sturdier. Spring has really begun, and the birds are back in their perches, the leaves are on the trees, and the days are growing longer. The house, the street, the neighborhood, and the whole world, it seems, has been transformed in the beauty
of God's creation. The house is no longer dreary, and the children are merry and active once again. The little plant stretches up and up, striving to soak in the sun's rays that it needs so badly to grow.
It is finally tall enough to be noticed, but the children, who often play in the yard, kick balls past it, barely missing the afflicted but persevering little plant. Now one of the gentler girls crosses the yard and strokes the tender fibers of the plant. This one sympathizes with the smallest creations of God, and intends to do his best to protect it and not let the others hinder its growth. She knows not what plant it is, but she is sure that it was specially designed to look how it does, whether it be beautiful or not. She hastens to the garage and pulls it open. After rummaging around a bit, she discovers some wiring or something of the sort. She ignores the teasing of her siblings and acquaintances, and installs it carefully around the tender young plant, so as to protect it from the children and the little animals in the neighborhood. The plant is much better off after receiving this gift of kindness, and is refreshed again by rain that has just begun to fall. All the children file into the house, which has seemingly come back to life.
It has been several days since then, and the little plant has reached its full height. Every day the girl comes to check up on it, and today she is here again. She bends over to examine it, her brown hair falling in her face. She prays as hard as it is possible to pray that the plant would fulfill its purpose if it hadn't already. As if in answer to her prayers, the very next day the plant begins to bulge a little at the top. The girl, upon approaching the plant the next day, is filled with joy to see this bulge at the top, and watches it nearly all day. Nothing happens that day, but wait... nothing?!! No! No, not at all! Something is indeed happening. The little plant's cells are multiplying to produce a strong, healthy product. And while the girl's blue eyes watch it, it is growing. Through the Hand of the Almighty Creator, it is soon to be a full grown. "I wonder. . . just what will you be when you are bigger?" The little six year old is now called in to eat dinne
r. She takes one last look at the young plant, at the green grass growing up around it, and tells it, "Good night", before running into the house.
The next day is a Sunday, a very important Sunday. This day is the day when we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord from the grave. Before leaving for church, the girl comes out again, and finds the little persistent plant. But look, it is not to be called "the little plant" any longer. No, now it is a majestic lily, a lily that has sprung up from its bulb that seemed to be dead. And it is not just a lily, either. It is the lily that represents the miraculous resurrection of Jesus Christ our Lord. It is an Easter lily, and as it's white petals unfold in the sunrise, the girl smiles. "So you're an Easter Lily, are you?" And she plants a tender kiss on it's petals before going off to church.

Afterward: I believe that every plant, every creature, right down to every cell and every atom is a miracle of God's creation. Only God can make life. Man has attempted to create life, but they cannot begin to match the beauty and the miracle of God's creation. Man can make life out of life, out of what God has already given life, out of what He has created. But only God can make life out of nothing, and only God can bring something dead back to life. Only God could raise His Son from the dead to show that we need not mourn hopelessly over a dead Savior but instead we can rejoice that He has died, bearing our sins, and He rose again. We do not mourn for the dead, but rejoice, because He lives!