Return. Can you find your own place of rebirth?

As the spring came, we prepared for the joy of swimming. I bought all the necessary chemicals to treat, and care for, our above ground pool. Our winter cover was removed and put away. The water was tested and the levels of alkalinity and ph were balanced properly. Chlorine tablets were added and I vacuumed away the debris from the bottom of the pool. 

As the heat of summer came we enjoyed the relaxation of floating on top of our pool with the sun warming our bodies. 

For about a month, as the temperatures topped out in the upper 90s, and the heat index soared to over 100, everything seemed right in our backyard. With my sunglasses on, I would swim laps for a little bit. Then when I was done, I would pull myself onto one of our floats and relax until I was too hot to continue. Then I would retreat back into the water to cool off. 

We were all so tan and so relaxed. . . 

But a by-product of the heat was the apparent suffering of our small magnolia tree which resides near the pool, adjacent to the carport. Slowly the leaves turned and then they fell off in the middle of July. It seems that the tree is dead--I hope it is not, but we will know in the spring. 

So for the remainder of the summer, we have enjoyed swimming while simultaneously hoping the tree is alive. But this is not the only thing that has left. As the tree has lost its leaves, we have not seen any of the hummingbirds that normally come and enjoy the feeder in the backyard and rest near the magnolia tree. . . that was until yesterday. 

As Emma and I returned home from an errand, we saw one fluttering around the hopefully-not-dead-tree. Its tiny wings carrying it around our backyard looking for a snack from our red feeder. I stood there smiling, hoping, and thankful. 

I wonder if you can find a place today that seems dry, barren, and dead, and can you notice the place where life returns? 

That tree shows all the signs of death. But if I had not slowed down and took a longer look, I might have missed the little blue bird darting around. It was a gift that God showed me. A reminder. A gift that can be shared. A story of faithfulness.