Cynthia

Cynthia. By Mary Jo Hudson

One of the great pleasures of living with a large yard is the potential for blossoms. One week
each spring, is my favorite. I never know exactly when it will happen. It begins at the front
property line, when the sticks of the hedge bud out and suddenly, seemingly overnight, turn
from sticks into a gold array. You see, one side of my yard is bordered by a forsythia hedge.
Then in sequence, daffodils open. Tulip buds begin to emerge. Bluebells come out of the
ground like a resurrection from the dead. Hues of every imaginable shade of blue and purple
come to life behind the house. The neighbor’s dogwood shines like a lantern at midnight. It is
glorious. And, each year, a sweet story comes to mind.

It’s about my friend, Cynthia. Cynthia is hard to describe. If you can imagine the joy and
exuberance of a five-year old wrapped in a beautiful adult woman, you might have a glimpse of
Cynthia. She always smiled. She found joy in every minute of every day. Her enthusiasm was
contagious. She was giddy with happiness for living each day. She bounced when she walked.
Her smile was infectious. She is the kind of girl you wanted to be your friend the minute you
saw her.

As a kindergartener, she was impressed with the lovely flowers on her teacher’s desk one day.
The teacher must have had an object lesson with the lovely bouquet. She informed the class
they were forsythia blossoms.

Cynthia, in her childlike enthusiasm, was absolutely ecstatic. She felt like a princess in a castle.
No one else in her room had the joy of that day like Cynthia. You see, Cynthia didn’t
understand the word ‘forsythia’. She though the teacher said the flowers were ‘for Cynthia’.
Cynthia’s joy turned to sorrow when she learned of her mistake. She did NOT get to take the
flowers home. They were not for her to have.

What the forsythia blooms mean to me are HOPE. Each year, winter seems to erase the life of
that hedge. It loses its life force of greenery every fall. But in the spring, sometime near Easter,
it regenerates and breaks forth. It’s almost as if it is praising God that the winter season could
not end its life. It celebrates by bursting with gorgeous, joyful yellow blooms that extend from
the top of each branch to the very roots.

I learn afresh and anew each spring that even after a challenging, dry, season of my life, there is
reason to raise my heart and my hands to the Resurrected Christ who gave His life to fulfill the
law and offer me an eternity with Him. Year after year, he sends the signal to me that there is
hope after the dark season.

Maybe you are also facing a challenge that seems overwhelming. Let the hope of this season,
the resurrection of our God who could not be defeated even by death, encourage you.
Because, unlike Cynthia, we DO have that hope. For me, the forsythia hedge reminds me, first
in the spring and then even as it matures that there is hope for ME because of a risen savior.