It's Time for Baby Leaves

This Is My Father's World

Maltbie D. Babcock 

"This is my father's world, And to my listening ears
All nature sings, and round me rings
The music of the spheres

"This is my father's world, The birds their carols raise
The morning light, the lily white
Declare their maker's praise

"This is my father's world, I rest me in the thought
Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas
His hand the wonders wrought."

Baby leaves . . . God's sign of new life and hope.

Many of you know my story about baby leaves. I love to tell it because it shares how God encouraged my heart during a difficult time. As baby leaves are just about to open up here in NW PA, maybe there's someone who doesn't know my story, so I'm sharing it again to encourage your heart, and encourage my heart too! This happened many years ago as told in an article I wrote . . .

"The blistering wind hit my face as I opened the door. Winter was here. 'Come on, Sparkie,' I said. 'You have to go for a walk.'

"The wind slapped my face and tears dropped from my eyes. 'It's been a difficult year, Lord,' I thought. 'Winter has harbored in my heart leaving me cold and dead, just like the trees.' My eyes traveled around the yard taking in the bleak appearance.

"The trees, once full of foliage now stood bare before me. And the remains of our productive garden now showed hard, cracked earth. 'Even the geese took a detour on their way home,' I told the wind.

"The year had left stains, and the ache in my heart hurt. 'Hurry, Sparkie,' I yelled. 'I want to get back inside.'

"My eyes fixed on the maple tree behind our home. Stripped of all its colorful clothing, it looked dead. 'Just like my heart,' I thought. And then I remembered the baby leaves.

"Last February, I began watching the buds develop on the maple tree. I couldn't remember ever taking the time to watch leaves grow, and decided I'd see first hand how God gave them birth. Sparkie and I would stop every evening on our walk to look for any development. It was a slow beginning, but finally--one day in April--the buds opened.

Quickly leaves grow.

"Long tentacles reached out, as many as 15 or 20 from each bud, as I remember. At the end of the tentacles were blossoms and at their base were leaves. The leaves were bound together, just like the cold buds had been. As the weather warmed, they began to unfold.

"My heart tingled with excitement when the leaves began to open. My husband, Jerry, was at the garden and I remember yelling excitedly to him, 'Come quick! The leaves are opening.'

"Half-inch baby leaves, perfectly shaped, stretched their little frames for all the earth to see. In one week, some leaves had grown to 3 inches in length. My eyes couldn't believe the transformation. As the leaves grew, the blossoms were blown to the ground. I walked on yellow drops of sun splattered all over the place. I had witnessed the birth of one of God's creations.

"The cry of a lone bird brought me back to the present. Chilled, I headed back to the  house, shivering. But my heart was no longer cold.

"You see, it's February now--just the time I began watching the frozen buds last year. When everything looked dead, and no life was visible, God was working. And now I knew God was working in me.

"It's been a long year, but I know my heart will feel the warmth of God's love again. Why, in just a couple of months, He'll bring be baby leaves."

"The more I study nature, the more I am amazed at the Creator."

Louis Pasteur (1822-18950

Ever since that cold February day I look for my baby leaves with anticipation for God's reminder to me that there is hope.Here in NW PA buds are slowly beginning to open on a few trees, but I'm still waiting in our yard. In just another week or two I will have baby leaves. I'm so excited!

 

I hope you can take time over the next few weeks to see God's creation come into bloom and realize the hope God gives us each day.

My baby leaves story was published back in 1992 titled "There's Life in Winter," in Women's Touch, January/February 1992.  The above is an abbreviated version.

"The tree is full of poetry."

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862)