The tears came hard.
Tears of sadness, but also of an overwhelming joy.
Bittersweet tears.
I tried to focus my sleepy, squinted eyes on what I had dared not hope to see. As I gazed out my kitchen window, I saw snowball blooms on my start from mom’s snowball bush, for the first time ever.Mom’s snowball bush, where I would retreat to it’s cooling shade for a summertime read. Where it miraculously snowed petals of white that danced on the summer breeze.
My sister gave me the start several years ago, a cutting from the start mom gave her before she passed. Before we were ready to let mom go.
We are never ready for that kind of loss.
Dare to Hope and Battle Despair
Knowing I didn’t inherit mom’s green thumb like my sister did, I had very little hope for the poor thing. In the first two years since I planted it, it withered to a stick. What little leaves came out in the second year were blighted.I felt like I had failed my sister and my mom. My sister continued to assure me to be patient and have faith that the growth would come.
But she didn’t know how badly this thing was suffering! I didn’t have much hope.
Then last year a new branch appeared from the ground, as the original continued to wither and remind me of my brown thumb that kills most plants I touch. Soon after another new sprout began!
Maybe I could dare to hope after all.
Dare to Hope and Remain Open to Possibility
I am the true vine, and my Father is the gardener. 2He cuts off every branch in me that bears no fruit, while every branch that does bear fruit he prunes so that it will be even more fruitful. John 15:1-2
As I gazed out my kitchen window one morning to recenter on life’s beauty, I absolutely lost it. Shaking and honestly bawling, I ran for the binoculars, back to the window, and then outside to confirm what my eyes still couldn’t believe.
Of all mornings, mom’s snowball bush finally bloomed!
It was the Saturday between Good Friday and Easter Sunday.
A sign of hope, healing and growth in the waiting for a world in so much need.
It was a whisper from heaven on a day of vulnerability. I was about to step out in faith in ministry to women, into the bigger world beyond the safety and security of my hometown mountains, family and friends who entertain the notion I can write. A ministry born of my own struggles, and, ahem, impatient waiting.
Of all days.
On all levels.
Open Your Eyes to Possibility
There are rare moments when it feels like the veil has been lifted enough to let such whispers come through. My gratitude for this blessing of hope is beyond what words can express, but I could easily have missed it.Why?
In my despair, I became avoidant. Skeptical even. I was so sure of my own inability to keep the plant alive, I believed I had somehow thwarted God’s ability to make it bloom. So I avoided it often and looked the other way. When that first new branch appeared several inches from the original start, I almost pulled it, thinking it was a weed!
I learned to keep my eyes open to the possibility that God’s answer to what I hope for may look different than what I expect. What may look like a weed could be the beginning of even more than what you dare to hope for!
Where do you need to allow space for God’s work to bloom in your life?
May the hope that Easter brings continue to bring daily hope in your life, in all the places you need it.
Dare to hope!
“God’s answer to what I hope for may look different than what I expect.” Words of wisdom, Laura. I pray I learn well.