Driving back from a hot, brutal day of digging water lines in El Chaparral, a group of us chose to sit in the back of a truck. Overheated, sunburnt and blistered, we just needed AIR. April is by far the hardest month physically in Chinandega. The heat is at its apex. The humidity is like a natural sauna. When mixed with the cruelly-teased promise of rain that dissipates each afternoon, nerves begin to wear away.
Air. I needed air. When will it rain… “please please please,“ I whined in my head.
And then it hit me in my view…. yellow.
Saffron robes of hope.
They don’t bloom unless they know – how do they know? – that soon rain will arrive.
They feed the bees and hummingbirds. They pass their pollen and nectar like gifts.
Everything else is brown… almost petulant in the wait for relief.
But these trees are BAM! Just there exalting in hope of the rain to come.
Upon seeing the beautiful trees, I first thought, “It’s gonna rain soon because these trees would not be blooming unless they know.” And the second thought that hit me was how hopeful this made me….my entire demeanor just did a 180. No coaxing. No great words of inspiration. No awesome songs to lift up my heart.
Growing up, my mom worked as a realtor, and she told me to put yellow somewhere on the front porch when we were selling our house. One week later, we had 2 people interested. Artists use yellow as a focal point. It draws you in and becomes the heart of the painting.
And so, it makes sense that God, who created yellow, uses it to draw our attention to hope. I felt humbled. And deliriously happy… it’s gonna rain soon and this dry and hot season too will pass.
I want to see more hope. I want to notice the trees offering their jonquil beauty as a gift. And, most importantly, I want to be used by God, emptied out in exuberant blooming, for others.
Bright as yellow.