These colorful garden tulips are stopping me almost every time I pull in our driveway.

My new neighbor planted them on the little hill between our homes and she calls them “our flowers” though she did all the work…

Welcome neighbor.
Welcome friend.

I look at the raindrops on the blooms today – this day of waiting – this day of clouds and rain that aptly follows the cross – for Sunday to come – and think, *things* are about to unfurl and it’s going to be so good.
Yes, Sunday is coming.