"This is the Day in which God's most excellent favors have been poured out upon men, the Day in which His most mighty grace hath been infused into all created things. It is incumbent upon all the peoples of the world to reconcile their differences, and, with perfect unity and peace, abide beneath the shadow of the Tree of His care and loving-kindness."
—Bahá’u’lláh, Gleanings from the Writings of Bahá’ulláh

© 2010 Vanessa Ring Jette, Age 9

Spring flowers remind us to be happy. It’s as though God treasured this invitation in each one and then spread them abundantly about the landscape to ensure we wouldn’t miss it.

 As the vernal equinox of Spring approaches, I look forward into that new season from one of the highlights of my year—the annual Fast that millions of Bahá’ís follow for nineteen days during daylight hours each March. This Fast is a kind of spiritual preparation, reflection, and stock-taking time that precedes Naw-Rúz (meaning “New Day”), which marks the new year on the Bahá’í calendar. The Bahá’í New Year begins with the vernal equinox on March 21st, the first day of spring.

‘Abdu’l-Bahá, son of the faith’s prophet-founder, Bahá’u’lláh, has provided one of my favorite descriptions of the spiritual significance of Naw-Rúz. I think that it also points to the joy and promise in that spiritual springtime that Bahá’ís believe is dawning, no matter how dark and wintry our world may appear at times. He says:

At the time of the vernal equinox in the material world a wonderful vibrant energy and new life-quickening is observed everywhere in the vegetable kingdom; the animal and human kingdoms are resuscitated and move forward with a new impulse. The whole world is born anew, resurrected. Gentle zephyrs are set in motion, wafting and fragrant; flowers bloom; the trees are in blossom, the air temperate and delightful; how pleasant and beautiful become the mountains, fields and meadows. Likewise, the spiritual bounty and springtime of God quicken the world of humanity with a new animus and vivification.

And next comes my favorite part:

All the virtues which have been deposited and potential in human hearts are being revealed from that Reality as flowers and blossoms from divine gardens. It is a day of joy, a time of happiness, a period of spiritual growth. I beg of God that this divine spiritual civilization may have the fullest impression and effect upon you. May you become as growing plants. May the trees of your hearts bring forth new leaves and variegated blossoms. May ideal fruits appear from them in order that the world of humanity, which has grown and developed in material civilization, may be quickened in the bringing forth of spiritual ideals. Just as human intellects have revealed the secrets of matter and have brought forth from the realm of the invisible the mysteries of nature, may minds and spirits, likewise, come into the knowledge of the verities of God, and the realities of the Kingdom be made manifest in human hearts.
‘Abdu’l-Bahá, Promulgation of Universal Peace, p. 52
 

Each time I read that passage, I envision a brilliant, variegated hillside bursting into bloom all of a sudden, just as so many settings will when spring arrives, despite the unpredictability of the meteorological scene these days.

I’m also reminded of one of the earliest Naw-Rúz celebrations that our family shared together. The happiness of that day, and the spiritual promise that Naw-Rúz unfailingly holds each year, were captured for me in a photograph I snapped of our then kindergarten-age son.

At the time, we were packing up our small Toyota to head for the Naw-Rúz party that night. I opened a car door to find him sitting in the backseat so surrounded by a massive bouquet of daffodils in full bloom that I could barely see him.

We were bringing these flowers to decorate the rented hall where about fifty of us would celebrate that night, and my husband, in order to ensure that the flowers would arrive safely, had given our small son the very important task of holding them as we rode. He had never seen these harbingers of spring before and was obviously delighted with them, and to have been given this special assignment.

It’s hard to remember which made the bigger impact, that explosion of yellow blooms or the hugeness of his delighted smile as he grinned back at me, clutching his precious cargo.

In their very essence, daffodils, like so many spring flowers, remind us to be happy. It’s as though God treasured this special invitation in each one and then spread them abundantly about the landscape to make sure we wouldn’t miss it.

Through the years, whenever I look at this sweet image of our son in his early Naw-Rúz delight, I recall that wish of ‘Abdu’l-Bahá’s: “May you become as growing plants. May the trees of your hearts bring forth new leaves and variegated blossoms.”

Indeed, may each new springtime remind us that we are spiritual beings, however earthly our journey often seems.  What blooms and blessing might our hearts help welcome into our world?