Pink Tulips

(Twila Belk)

After my recent knee replacement surgery—and another hospitalization the following week—I received a basket of pink tulips. I could barely make it to the front door to meet the deliveryman, but when I saw what he held, I sensed God’s smile.

Pink tulips have come to represent hope to me.

Ten years ago, I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer. Soon after that unwelcome news, my best friend showed up with a bouquet of pink tulips. The beautiful flowers lifted my spirit. Throughout my treatment, she continued to bring them—gentle reminders that hope was still alive.

Almost five years ago, my husband died. At the meal following his celebration of life service, every table held a vase of pink tulips, suggested by my best friend.

On Christmas Eve 2024, that same dear friend gave me a hand-painted picture by a local artist. When I saw it was pink tulips, I cried. Just months earlier, my youngest son had been in a high-speed motorcycle accident that could have taken his life. I spent weeks at his side—caring for him, praying, holding on to hope.

That painting now sits on the table beside my bed. I see it every day, and its message is clear.

Tulips bloom in early spring after a long, cold winter, quietly declaring that life is returning. Hope rises when something once dormant or broken begins again.

Where there is hope, there is new life—transformation.

New life turns my thoughts to Easter, the celebration of ultimate renewal: resurrection, victory over death, and the promise that life can begin again.

Pink tulips. Hope. New life. Easter.

For me, they all tell the same story:

After the darkest seasons, life returns—and with it, hope.