The days are getting shorter, evenings brisker.
And there she towers.
The doorway sentinel she stands out this awkwardly beautiful lady in yellow amidst a row of ordinary town houses neatly adorned in bushes. For weeks neighbors wondered what on earth was growing as she stretched taller towards the light nearly a story and a half tall. And I stood back in amazement. Who would have thought?
It was a few months back when Hope Girl brought it to me in a decorated cup for Mother’s Day. She’d potted it at school all ready to be popped in the ground and I didn’t want to burst her bubble that perhaps it might not sprout (after all my luck at gardening has been quite slim as a married woman) so we dug a hole anyways, tucked the seed away in a nice bed of dirt and forgot about it.
But someone else hadn’t…
She sprouted right up and never stopped reaching for the sun and I have never been more aware of how little faith I have.
How many times have I been given a seed of hope only to bury it under a sea of worry and forgetfulness?
The morning sprints to the front door, daily reports on how our sun lady was faring became moments of joy in the mundane. And the day she blossomed! What a celebration. It was as if she had been cheered open. And it wasn’t an immediate opening, but a petal at a time unfurling and no amount of begging or pleading could rush her. In the fullness of time she would be all there…just like we the believers in this messy process of blooming that can’t be hurried or forced but requires patience and grace lavished and a good watering of the Word and above all LOVE. Love for each other, for ourselves for the amazing God who loved us first and holds all our fragile frail together. It’s easier to take the road of judgement withering spirits instead of suffering long as the growing transforms.
And then at the height of all her beauty she took a bow.
A bow to our wildly wonderful God. Giver of all growth and good things beautiful. The stage for a season hers the glory His forever.