One of the joys that I most looked forward to, when I knew we were finally going to buy our own house, was planting some good old fashioned perennial flowers. It never made sense to plant bulbs in the fall when we were renting, because we never knew for sure if we'd be there in the spring to see them (OK, maybe that's a lousy attitude - after all, they would have blessed *someone*, but anyway, we wanted to see them come up as well as go into the ground). So last fall, I eagerly selected, ordered, and planted tulip, crocus, and daffodil bulbs. Most went in our flower bed at the front of our house, but on a whim, I also put about 10 extra daffodil bulbs around a tree in the backyard.
What I didn't know was that squirrels really like bulbs. They didn't go after the ones in the flower bed, which were covered in cedar mulch (maybe they couldn't smell them?) but the very next day, the daffodil bulbs around the tree were dug out and laying on the ground. Naively, I tucked them back in... and the next day, they were gone entirely. I searched the holes, I searched the surrounding ground and our yard - nothing. Not a bulb to be found. Obviously, I wasn't pleased at this news, and all winter, whenever I'd mention the bulbs, I would also mention those "stupid squirrels," and how next year I'd need to plant things under chicken wire to keep the predators at bay.
On the last day of January, I was excited to see one little tiny crocus shoot push through in the flower bed. At the same time, I wanted to say, "too soon! go back!" but I guess it knew what it was about, because it's not like we got much snow the rest of the winter.
The month of February, my mind was occupied with other things. I was sad, I was distracted, and I didn't pay much attention to the flowers.
And now? We have baby plants, with the promise of flowers soon to come:
Crocuses:
Tulips:
Daffodils:
And, more daffodils:
That's right. Those were my "lost bulbs". The squirrels didn't get them after all - just buried them better. What I thought was lost and gone for good, is blooming right in my backyard. It feels like a reminder, a sign, a sacramental of sorts, at a moment mid-Lent when I was really needing just such a "touch" from above. As such, while I'm enjoying my front yard flowers, those back yard ones are holding a special spot in my heart.
Because, you see, it hasn't been an easy year. Not just the miscarriage, but it has seemed quite overwhelmingly like my every desire and plan and goal has been untimely thwarted. From big things, like our hopes for a September baby (I can't help but remember daily how far along I would have been at this point - for example, I likely would have been feeling little Julian move by this week), to silly little ones like wanting to secure a community garden spot for the year, or wanting our kitchen floor done by my birthday. Every time I start to think I've got something to hold on to, a goal, a future to set my sights on, no matter how small, it disappears, and I'm brought up short again.
The thing is, I'm beginning to see the reason behind the pattern. It's all about hope, and faith, and having my sights set on the right thing. About contentment with the things I have, and making do, patience, and perseverance. Finding hope and sufficiency in what does come my way, instead of what I want...
Learning to be a shoot in our Father's hands, growing through the dirt, towards His light, and not my own.
And so, I take great joy in waiting and watching as He makes the flowers bloom. I miss the hope of a soon-to-be born baby, but take comfort in the daughter I already have. I'm also finding myself thankful that, while it's not what I would have wished or preferred, we've had the chance to transition her to her own bed at night *without* a looming deadline or anxiety on my part.
As for the garden, well, there are many ways to the same end. Getting wait-listed for the community garden has meant that I've started researching container gardening, raised bed gardening, and refining my goals and desires for what to grow this year (if you're wondering why we're not just going to garden in the same plot we tilled last year, we're planning to plant evergreens there, to shield our yard from a winter-long view of Big Lots, and also to help block the thicket of poison ivy from continuing to encroach on our land). In other words, being forced to take a step back may turn into a blessing of its own.
It's a lesson I feel forced to learn again and again, especially in this whole home-ownership business, but it's a valuable lesson for a parent, or spouse, or frankly anyone growing in faith, to learn: to work with the reality of what IS, rather than constantly pining after what you would have BE. Sure, I'd love a 2500 sq foot house, with flowing, open, separate living/dining/kitchen spaces, tiled ample baths, and a laundry room (oh, and several acres of land). What I have instead is a 1300 sq foot house with a 12 by 12 kitchen and no dining room (nor, if you're wondering, do we have tiled baths or a laundry room. We have a truly tiny full bath, and a half bath that was built into what was originally a closet, and a basement to do laundry in). But, we're learning to work with the space, and embrace what makes it best rather than trying to cram ideas from our vision of "the perfect home" into a space that frankly can't accommodate them. Same with the yard; same with the limited hours of my life; and same with the people in that life, whether spouse, child, or extended family. My daughter is shy, and she's not going to be the extroverted little girl across the road anytime soon. But yesterday, she willingly chose to go across the street with my neighbor, by herself, (without me!) for about a half an hour, which is an epic milestone in her life. If I insisted on her being exactly what society would have her be (or what I myself might have her be), I'd be disappointed at how she still "fell short". But by seeing her as she really is, I can rejoice and enjoy the little successes, and the slow blossoming of who she is meant to be. And, by truly accepting and learning to work with instead of against the limitations of my life, I'm a much happier person: not futilely straining against mountains that I can't move, but flowing along like a river between them.
So that's where I'm at, this Lent. Learning persistence, faith, hope, and contentment. I'm not sure why we can't ever learn these things except for "the hard way"... I guess outside of Eden, the hard way was the only way left.
A blessed St. Patrick's day to all!
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