TRUMPETS SHALL SOUND!

Daffodils in spring gladden my heart like nothing else. I grew up in Western Washington’s Puyallup Valley, which for decades has celebrated that flower with a parade and outstanding teen girls chosen as “daffodil royalty.” But for me, it’s more than a spring party. The trumpeted golden flowers to me speak of the glory of God. This time of year, I often search for You-Tube excerpts of the solo, “The Trumpet shall Sound,” from Handel’s Messiah. Nothing grips my heart like its straight-from-scripture lyrics: about the someday-beginning of forever-life with God:

In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, at the last trump: for the trumpet shall sound, and the dead shall be raised incorruptible, and we shall be changed. (1 Corinthians 15:52 KJV)

Along with the prospect of a sudden rush to eternity comes the self-examination in anticipation of the searing, pure eyes of a Holy God. Have I glorified Him with my life? Have I sought to serve Him? Did people see Jesus in Me? Or did I throw away my opportunities, instead spending my time in worthless activities? In our media-saturated culture, which connects the number of Facebook “followers” with status, that's an uncomfortable question.

Maybe I should rephrase this: If God read your Facebook posts, how would you feel?

I've come to appreciate the spiritual insights of Christian pastor and author A.W. Tozer (1897-1963). He spoke and wrote widely of the deeper inner spiritual life. When asked about the perception of “holiness” as a “negative kind of piety” that people shy away from, Tozer replied:

No, of course not! Holiness in the Bible means moral wholeness—a positive quality which actually includes kindness, mercy, purity, moral blamelessness and godliness. It is always thought to be of in a positive, white intensity of degree.*

A former pastor (now deceased) one year ministered healing words through a daily devotional based on a read-through-the-Bible calendar. His widow sent me a copy of the printed devotions, and it has enriched my Bible study for now a second year. He died before the predicted “final trumpet sound” when Christ returns again. But...could I hear it in my lifetime? I don't know. I do know this: every day is closer.

For several years a church I once attended had a very senior pastor on staff for “visitation.” He outlived two wives, dying in his nineties! But I was told that in his last year, in a little bedroom suite he shared with his third wife at a senior home, there was a note on their door: “Perhaps today.”

We who knew him, knew his meaning: Jesus might come before he died. Well, he died. But those two words continue to come to mind as eternity gets closer. Especially they revisit every spring, when the earth awakens and my favorite flowers inch up with their golden, trumpet crowns.

Earth-words cannot adequately describe the worship culture of Heaven. But angels with trumpets are prominently mentioned. Yes, the trumpet shall sound—infinitely louder and more joyful than the golden but mute daffodils of spring.

*A.W. Tozer, I Call It Heresy (Harrisburg, PA: Christian Publications, 1974). p. 63.

This short video (at the beginning) highlights the trumpet solo from Handel's Messiah:

Bing Videos

ONE BULB AT A TIME

I spent most of my growing-up years in Washington's Puyallup Valley, which for decades has celebrated spring with a “Daffodil Festival,” complete with royalty, a parade, and many other events. Now I live about 150 miles away, but I acknowledged my “valley roots” by planting a few daffodil bulbs at my home. However, my “patch” was a pittance—especially after I learned of “The Daffodil Garden” near Julian, a town in the mountains above San Diego. And that garden was originally no commercial venture. It was the love-labor of one woman, planting one bulb at a time, until the region exploded in the hues of yellow, orange and white of some 80,000 daffodils.

She began in 1958 by planting a couple dozen bulbs around her A-frame home, its shady trees and garden. The collection grew over the next half century, one bulb at a time, until plethhora of blooms became a local tourist attraction that survived her death. The plantings even survived the devastating 2021 month-long “Willow Fire” which scorched nearly 2,900 acres—because the bulbs were resting after their bloom cycle underground.

Did you catch that phrase, one bulb at a time? Her quiet dedication inspired a book with the bigger life principle of starting and steadfastly pursuing a big goal. Like planting bulbs, life goals happen one action at time. This link takes you to a narration of the book:

The Daffodil Principle (abundance-and-happiness.com)

So what? Well, so what of your goals? Maybe an educational or health goal. Or cleaning up your room or home or yard. Or garage! Or tackling a new skill. Nosy question: do you have goals?

I don't know about you, but I faced goals I thought impossible to achieve. Some were financial, others educational and relational. Transforming a goal to reality took tools requiring courage to start and sustain. When I talked to God about them, I was taken back to the advice shared by one of his most energetic, sold-out followers, Paul. He had many strikes against him: health, enemies, folks who didn't really care about the “Jesus story.” Not to mention financial (but he wasn't too important to sew tents for food and housing). He shared his secret: “I can do everything through him who gives me strength” (Philippians 4:13).

Not quite the “Daffodil Principle.” But similar. There's no reaping without sowing. No daffodils without bulbs. No spiritual fruit by avoiding what God calls us to do.

Challenge question: Are you planting bulbs to bloom where God has planted you?

Be inspired by this montage of daffodil photos:

"the daffodil garden" in julian, california - Search Images (bing.com)

Tired of winter

Snow is predicted as I write, but I don’t expect to see much. All around, spring is whispering its approach. Near my home, some daffodils have already pushed stems out of the thawing ground. This time of year, I’m drawn back to the poetry in Song of Songs (Solomon): "See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone. Flowers appear on the earth; the season of singing has come" (2:11-12). Yes, I know this is supposed to be a love song between a king and his beloved. But it’s also a celebration of God’s lavish love for me. He, too, says, “Arise, come, my darling, my beautiful one, come with me” (v. 13).

God programmed into flowers the cycle of living and dying, seen so clearly in those that rise from bulbs. When I clip off the daffodils’ spent stems in late spring, I think of their pungent, brilliant yellow blooms. I’m also confident they’ll return the next spring.

If only such confidence fortressed my prayers for those in a persistent spiritual “winter.” Every day as I open my prayer notebook, my fingers pass over the names of many in this nation and overseas, who are missing out on God’s best for their lives. Some have no relationship with the God who created them. Others acknowledge God, but are stuck in life, like a February that stays gray, flowers that never push through soil, dirty snow piles that never melt. For them, I sometimes let the words of Ephesians 2:10 become my prayer: “Father, I know You care for them more than they’ll ever know. Remind them that they are Your workmanship, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which You prepared in advance for them to do. Help them rise out of ‘stuckness’ to the challenges and joys of serving You.”

Winter is part of nature, and of life. Because we live in a fallen world, we’ll all experience the chill of hardship and sorrow. But we also live in the light of Easter, the history-shattering reality of a Christ who didn’t stay dead and buried, but came back to life. God has “rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son he loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins” (Col. 1:13-14).

Go back and re-read that verse. It thrills me. It’s part of Paul’s phenomenal prayer for the Colossian church, and includes petitions that their lives would bear fruit in loving service for God. Or, to borrow an old saying, that they’ll bloom for Him where they are planted.

I’m ready for spring. Let the thawing continue!