Recently, I drove past two burn zones, places where brushfires had come dangerously close to housing subdivisions. I had viewed these spaces in weeks past--all I saw were big, charred plots of land testifying to the fury of fire and its taming by brave firefighters. However, on this most recent viewing, I was startled to see that in place of blackened prairie was instead new, lush, verdant growth. This was in stark contrast to the brown, dead brush from the surrounding space which hadn't been burned earlier. This newness out of devastation, this life out of death, was a concentrated reminder to me of what spring communicates persistently each year: life is stronger than death. Sometimes it's necessary for the fires to consume--and when such purging is governed by a God of Love, good growth can result. I wondered to myself: is there a message for me here? Where do affliction and hardship seem to threaten--and what might be the surprise results in the good hand of God's Providence?