One year, I celebrated three New Year's Days in as many months. While living in Shanghai, China, I was surprised to learn that the traditional New Year's Day celebrated in the Western world would also be a day off for me in my new home. (This after I had seen the city decked out for Christmas in a manner worthy of a Dickens story, yet the day had been business-as-usual.)

Then, about six weeks later in February, I got to experience the unforgettable week-long party that is Chinese New Year in China. If I ever have another chance, I'll definitely invest in a set of ear plugs, though. Even the more meager firecrackers that many of our neighbors set off to drive away gloomy or bad spirits and welcome in a prosperous year were pretty deafening.

Upon my arrival back in the States, I transitioned into my American life with one of the highlights of my year, the annual Fast that millions of Baha'is follow for 19 days during daylight hours each March, the one I'm just completing again this week. It's a kind of spiritual preparation, reflection and stock-taking time that precedes Naw Ruz ("new day"), the new year, which, in the Baha'i calendar, begins with the vernal equinox on March 21 — the first day of spring!

One of my favorite descriptions of the spiritual significance of Naw Ruz was shared by 'Abdu'l-Baha, the son of the Baha'i Faith's prophet-founder, Baha'u'llah:

"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. 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-Baha, "The Promulgation of Universal Peace," pages 38-39)

Each time I read that passage, I envision a brilliant, variegated hillside bursting into bloom all of a sudden, just as so many settings like that will in the weeks ahead, whatever the unpredictability of the meteorological scene these days.

I'm also reminded of one of the earliest celebrations of Naw Ruz that our family shared together. The happiness of that day, and the spiritual promise that Naw Ruz 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 Ruz party that night. I opened a car door to find him sitting in the back seat 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 50 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 simply delighted both 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, as though God had treasured an invitation in each one, then spread them abundantly about the landscape to be sure we wouldn't miss it.

The caption I perpetually give this sweet image of our son, the first thought that popped into my head when I saw his early, Naw-Ruz delight, is also something that 'Abdu'l-Baha said about the spiritual springtime of unceasing bestowal that a loving Creator provides from age to age: "If we are not happy and joyous at this season, for what other season shall we wait and for what other time shall we look?"

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Phyllis Edgerly Ring, mother of two, is a writer and editor. Her current book project addresses how adults can recognize and nurture children's spiritual nature. She is a former program director at Green Acre Baha'i School in Eliot, Maine, and has been a member of the Baha'i Faith for more than 30 years. Email her at {email columns@bahai.us}columns@bahai.us{/email}. See the website of the Baha'is of the United States for more information. © copyright 2007 by Phyllis Edgerly Ring