Several months ago we had a long programme of pavement resurfacing happen on our road. This took several weeks and resulted in much disruption and congestion and, although difficult, the end result of carefully laid paving and silky smooth tarmac was worth it. However, a sad casualty of these works were our beautiful grass verges. These verdant boundaries to our road were destroyed by the large treaded wheels of council trucks and machinery. The resulting barren mud and dirt of the colder months have now been replaced by knee high weeds and scrub, causing me to tut each time I walk up the road and complain to myself that the council really should have reseeded or re turfed by now.

Then, early the other morning, my daughter, as she was leaving for work, called out to me “Mum, the poppies are out! Have you seen them?” “Poppies?” I thought, “We don’t have poppies. I shall have to educate her as to the difference between Camelia’s and poppies!” But she was right. As I looked out of the door I saw, in the morning sunlight, growing tall among the weeds and scrub of our grass verge, poppies - bright, red poppies! What a beautiful and unexpected sight amongst the dry dirt and the prickly weeds.

As the day wore on I began to reflect on how beautiful the first poppies must have been, growing up from the mud and wasteland of the Flanders Fields, resplendent in the silent breeze of that first summer of peace. And how appropriate to use this humble, fragile flower as a sign of remembrance and peace after such destructive and devastating times.

I began to wonder at the resilience and determination of these little flowers, growing on the verges in spite of all the devastation that they had experienced over our past year. A joyful sight, a totally unexpected gift amongst the scrub.

What a difficult, and in many ways devastating, year the world has had. Many of those we have loved lost, much of what we have known and treasured put on hold, many feeling isolated, anxious or alone. Yet, as we emerge from, and learn from the experiences of this pandemic year, let’s look for the poppies among the weeds, because they will be there - pushing through the hurts and the pain and bringing hope, and with it remembrance.

Later that afternoon, as I returned home from work, expecting to be greeted by the sight of red stems dancing in the breeze, I was horrified to find no poppies at all! Who has picked the poppies I fretted, not knowing that poppies close at night, or on cloudy days, to protect their pollen. Having enjoyed those beautiful blooms unexpectedly that morning I was devastated to think they had gone so soon. But, stepping out again early the following morning there again were the poppies. They had returned, standing tall, in a glorious display of red, echoing God’s promise in Lamentations 3: 22 & 23…

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
His mercies never come to an end;
They are new every morning;
Great is your faithfulness.

As we journey towards the end of restrictions and think about life returning to ‘normal’ again let’s look for the ‘poppies among the weeds’ - what are the blessings we have learnt amongst the hurt? What are the new mercies we have enjoyed every morning? And do we really want to go back to normal? As a young autistic boy called Woody recently said,

“I don’t want to go back to normal. I want to go back to better.”

Let's ask God to reveal to us the new and better things that He has planned….

Poppies at the Kerbside