That Which Lingers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the early fall of 1929, a beloved aunt dug up some bulbs of her majestic purple and gold irises, and transplanted them in my grandmother's tiny yard in Fort Worth, Texas.  My mother was just ten years old.

People did things like that, back then.  They shared the practical cup of sugar with a needy neighbor, but they also shared beauty and joy.

Just weeks after those beautiful perennials were welcomed into the small garden, the stock market crashed, and the entire country was thrown into the throes of the Great Depression.  But all through those desperate years the irises continued to grow, blooming like a flag of hope every spring, gradually taking over that small plot of dirt.  And of course, without saying, in turn, the irises were divided again and again, and passed on to others as a defiant act of restoration, despite the hardships no one expected: the withering economy, the desperation of no work, the long sickness that took my grandfather's life when my mom was still a teenager, and then, the shocking jolt of another world war. 

In 1951, my widowed grandmother uprooted her own life -- and the irises-- and moved cross-country to help care for our family.  And then, par to course, every time we moved, some of the irises were left behind, and others were dug up and transplanted in our new location.

When my parents finally moved to Florida in the 1990s, my husband and I dug up a box or two of the iris bulbs, out of their overgrown yard. Despite our own many moves, we planted them wherever we lived, left some behind at the house and with neighbors when we transferred to yet another city, and brought along some of the beauty.  God uses us for more than practical purposes, but also, and maybe even more importantly through our actions, to bring beauty, hope and restoration.  God invented beauty, because He knew how much we needed it in this broken world.  And He knew perennials grow without ceasing.

And so, this morning, I spotted the first irises of this season, blooming with all abandon, their deep royal purple flowers calling attention to spring.  I feel like we are coming out of the dark tunnel of the pandemic, as if spring never happened last year.  We have no idea what is ahead in the months to come, but God does.  And He provides the beauty to sustain us, glimpses of Himself, day after day, season after season.

That aunt, so long ago we don't remember her name, had no idea what joy she was sowing and what beauty still beheld now almost a hundred years later.  We are so caught up in what we think matters, we miss that which lingers far beyond our lifetimes, even that which proclaims the faithfulness of God to those yet unborn.  And keeps on growing.

What am I planting today?  What will linger?

Not Just a Dead End

 

It was not where I intended to run, several weeks ago, but tick-tock my time was scarce, and I had to cut out part of my usual running route to get back in time.  In an effort to shorten my course, instead of going around the big hill, I turned right at the fork and down the other side. A thousand shades of spring green greeted me. And then, when a gravel side path appeared, a sign designated my choice of a scenic loop or a dead end.  On this side of the park, blocked by heavily traveled roads, I surmised the dead end gravel path could not go far.  I still had time to explore a bit.  I always hope to make time to explore a bit.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A dead end, even with its morbid label, still goes somewhere and back again. And unlike a loop, it provides two chances to observe what is there and what was missed the first time passing by.  A terminus point is already embedded, a time to turn around, like an ending to a chapter.  There and back again was the first title of Tolkien’s epic novel The Hobbit.  As with Bilbo, we can never predict the adventure that will happen, nor foresee what was not visible to us before.

A dead end road provides time to unravel tightly knotted thoughts, to find new connections,  sometimes just to think and pray and enjoy without having to be so practical.  Sometimes even the familiar breaks way to what is completely new and astonishing.

A dead end is just as scenic as a scenic path.  Yet we argue, “But it doesn’t go anywhere!”

No, it goes through.

And that is what matters.  The starting point is the ending place, but we are changed by the journey.

The greatest inventions in the world began with a whole list of dead ends.  We live with such limitations, always needing purpose or reason to our efforts, and subsequently losing the wonder and beauty of it all.

At times when least anticipated, I have discovered an unexpected trail through the expanse, that which finally gives me a sense of where I actually am, not lost after all.  Things I never knew connected, things I never realized before.  Where did that thought come from?  Perhaps giving God a little margin to get a word in edgewise.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pursuit reveals hidden sacred tunnels that open up what we didn’t know.  And God's faithfulness ties it all together. 

“All who wander are not lost,” once said  J. R. R. Tolkien, who first invented another language and then wrote a story to go along with it, which we know as The Lord of the Rings trilogy.  He had no idea at the time how epic a story he was pursuing, nor even if it was a dead end.

Wander a bit.

How does that manifest itself today?  Ask God, and He will show one step, and then another.  Not necessarily a new path, but a new vision of the commonplace and immensity of Himself.

And find not just a dead end after all.

 

And I will lead the blind

in a way that they do not know,

in paths that they have not known,

I will guide them.

I will turn the darkness before them into light,

the rough places into level ground.

These are the things I do,

and I do not forsake them.

                   Isaiah 42. 16

And he ran

It was around a circle of fire,

     in the chill of the night, 

     out of fear,

that Peter denied that he even knew Him. 

He betrayed Jesus

          not once

          but three times.

The cock crowed,

      just as He said.

And Peter knew right then and there

     how much Jesus loved him.

It was behind doors

     locked on the inside,

  Peter heard from the women

who had been to the tomb,

                "He is not here."

And Peter knew right then and there

     that Jesus was

              who He said He was.

All of it was true,

     what He said,

              all that He said.

And he ran,

this time not away from

                    but toward Him.

What is our response?

 

He is not here,

        but has risen,

just as He said.

               Luke 24. 6 

 

A joyous Resurrection day to you, my friend!