Sunday Devotion ~ Bloom and Let Bloom

(Janet has the week off.)

But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience.
—Romans 8:25

By Gina Holmes

Outlining my 1920's Craftman's cottage are the most beautiful array of mature Azaleas. Every spring, my home goes from being unnoticed next to its neighbors--charming Tudors and stately Four-squares--to earning gasps from passerbys as red and hot-pink flowers explode onto a backdrop of evergreen out front.

After their floral jewelry is shed, it's time to prune. If I were to trim the bushes before then, I'd lose half the buds, and half the splendor.

Last year, I waited as I always do for beauty to die, before I and my shears got to work. With the sun cascading over my yard, and the smell of fresh earth and mulch surrounding me, I cut every branch which dared stretch away from the rest. As I did this, I couldn't help but feel the weight of sadness that I would have to wait another full year to enjoy my favorite symbol of regeneration.

I pushed the fleeting melancholy away and focused instead on the task at hand--shaping the bushes so that they could be at least presentable until their next spring showing.

As I chopped away, huge piles of branches towered behind me, and the sun, which once felt comforting, now beat down with oppression. Perspiration dampened my back and forehead and I picked up my pace. I no longer took the time to stop and consider each branch before the cut because I was in a hurry to be done with the drudgery. In my frenzy, I dropped my shears, forcing myself to pause to retrieve them. As I bent, I noticed a large branch filled with multitudes of tiny, red, buds and my heart sank.

I could have enjoyed another display of flowers had I looked a little closer before chopping. On my haunches, I raked through the pile and found many branches which hadn't yet been given the opportunity to present their gifts. God wanted to give one more smile--one more blessing, and I, in my hurry to move on, cut off branches which would have born "fruit" if only I'd been patient.

Sometimes we pass judgment on people who seem to be spiritually dead. We cut them off from our prayers, our teaching, our invitations, because they aren't blooming fast enough. Sometimes we give up on a story, a writer, a genre, which doesn't bear fruit as quickly as we think it ought to.

If only we'd been more patient, more discerning ... who knows what would have bloomed?