The ground was dry, and the dust blew high. Lawns that had been once lush and green were beginning to take on a tint of tan. Then behold! The 13th of October brought a welcomed weekend of torrential rains. Within a couple short days, morning light revealed scattered beds of beautiful “crocus” daffodils across the land.
I am not really sure of the identity or the scientific name for these attractive plants. Some folks call them “daffodils”, while others call them “snow-drops”. But seeing that obviously they have no resemblance to snow, I prefer the name “crocus”, which in all likelihood might be their correct name. I am also inclined to go along with those who call them “daffodils”, for they seem to be a species of that noteworthy flower. Whatever they are supposed to be called, it is amazing to see how rapidly they begin to bloom on a sunny morning not long after a heavy rain.
Ordinarily, a weekend of rain would have meant a relief that would have brought home-spun pleasure to our people who are usually grateful for every refreshing drop. But this time, the showers unfortunately contributed to a pall of somberness that dampened our spirits with bereavement amidst glimmers of hope – hope for the successful rescue of a fallen airman.
It was on a Saturday morning October 13th, in the midst of the rain, that our close-knit community was impacted by the sad news of a tragedy, not yet bearing any closure for many who are left to grieve. Captain Kirby and his plane had gone down with three others on a pre-dawn trip en route toSt. Thomasfrom St.Croix.
By fate’s decree, one passenger survived. A week later, the mangled plane was retrieved from the water, containing the corpses of two passengers. But, the grim details of what has become of the captain might never be known. Only our imagination might serve to satisfy our curiosity and presumptuous inquisitions. We had hoped that, per chance, he had swum to a deserted quay, or that perhaps he might have been still adrift. But it has been some three weeks now, and under the circumstances in light of reality, imagination seems to pose more questions than plausible answers.
That being the case, we can confide in the fact that the same One who created that fateful Saturday morning also saw what unusual occurrences took place in the systems during the darkness of the dawn, as Piper Aztec N5553Y fell from the skies to its demise into the dreadful water. It is God in whom we trust. And we’d do well to resign all of our questions to the charge of Him who sent the reviving rain; to the awesome God who transformed the boring brown of dusty drought into pleasant fields of gorgeous green; to Him who paints the beautiful yellow of crocus “daffodils”.
And so, I dedicate these crocuses to those who mourn, even as we all do. These simple flowers flourish in bloom for just a limited season. As long as the earth is moist and cool, and as long as the sun is just balmy enough, they thrive in glorious array. Daffodils declare the great handiwork of our awesome God. They suddenly appear in captivating beauty for us to enjoy “for a time”. No sooner than the rain stops and the sun rebounds with glistening warmth on the drenched fields, we get to see their glad display. But their beauty is short-lived, for as the wind and heat of the daily sun bears down upon their tender petals, over a narrow span of time they slowly fade from view— ‘til another rainy season.
Though it might be somewhat difficult to accept, we would realize that Kirby too, like the “daffodils”, was lent to us for a time. God was kind enough to offer him to us to love and to appreciate. His life was given to ours for our enjoyment, and he was cordially at our service for but a while. Kirby was a hero by his very nature. All that he did for the benefit of his loved-ones, and the stellar service that he rendered to the people of these islands cause our hearts to be filled with pride, appreciation and thanksgiving for a life that was admirable— a career marked by accomplishment and success.
The same Creator who gave Captain Kirby to us and caused him to bloom in his noble work as a professional, decorated pilot, has allowed him to fall by the stealthy hand of fate. And it is this same God who once inspired the heart and hand of the Psalmist David to write: “as for man, his days are as grass; as the flower of the field so he flourishes; then the wind passes over it and it is gone; and the place thereof shall know it no more.”
Well, to the family, relatives, colleagues and friends of our fallen hero, I heartily dedicate these precious crocus “daffodils”. Take heart and be encouraged by them, even in your season of sadness. May God’s comforting balm continue to soothe your grieving hearts as you hold on to your hope with the assurance that, like the serene daffodils, “joy comes in the morning”.
