Laurie Klein, Scribe

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Flourish!

by Laurie Klein 19 Chiming In

Flourish . . .

The amaryllis bulb was an Advent gift: scarlet lilies-in-waiting. Yet this one, the size of my fist, was dirt-less and nearly airless, sheathed in beige wax.

Would it grow?

flourish, amaryllis bulb

Forced blooms perform out of season, indoors, often far from their natural habitat. Over the years, I’ve tended potted amaryllis. During months of overcast skies, they suggest Spring will again effervesce.

Within days, the first leaf knifed upward. A green bulge followed atop a stem that eventually separated into four elongated buds at right angles, each one shapely as a calligrapher’s flourish.

Red petals flared, a visual fanfare like living fireworks.

Then . . . a second stem, another quartet of six-pointed stars. It seemed a parable-in-progress: as in, we carry within what we need to blossom.

I lopped off wilt but left the waxy coating intact: one bulb, no water, nothing to feed on — save itself.

A few weeks later, six (6!) additional buds crowned stem number three. That’s rare!

Flourish

Lately, my heroic bulb — now tamped into soil — is eking out rootlets, launching new leaves.

Sometimes we mortals seem to blossom overnight. We call this a breakthrough. An epiphany. A veil lifts, and fresh insight bowls us over, perhaps via glimpses of mercy, mirth, beauty, or truth. The revelation is quick.

We use the word “quickening” to describe that first stirring of the fetus curled in the womb. In a moment, life ignites. As with plants, so with people: verve generates roots and blooms.

But then come the gradual, wearing forces of heartbreak, soul erosion, physical breakdown. What then?

We may feel deprived, perhaps curtailed as my holiday bulb. Yet hope beckons. We learn new ways to weather impediments, outlast their strictures. A season of imposed limitations can also evoke unexpected creativity, break us open in glorious ways.

Will we also store up strength for the future?

My amaryllis bulb must endure being sidelined, for months, to flower again — some fortitude required.

Writer Mark Nepo says, “We are worn to who we are meant to be.”

Not born, but worn. Our personal growth curve benefits from subtractions as well as additions. The old equation holds: he must increase, but I must decrease. No fanfare.  No fireworks. Thus, are we conformed to Christ.

This is one way we begin to behold — in ourselves, in our world, and in one another — what is tender and vibrant, if also fleeting.

Eternally drawn through seasons of rest and nourishing grace, we flourish anew.

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Lord of Life, you never force us. Instead, you equip us, then coax us to show forth your colors. Remind us you’re still at work—even when nothing remotely green seems to be rising.


Friends, where are you in the cycle: Newly abloom? Temporarily shelved? Somewhere in between?
What is the invitation? Where are you feeling stifled? Is it time for a small fanfare?

*

Photo by Vincenzo Tabaglio on Unsplash

You might also enjoy this, from the archives:

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: bloom, born or worn?, break open, breakdown, breakthrough, conform, fanfare, flourish, force, fortitude, increase/decrease, quicken April 17, 2023

Dear Mary Magdalene

by Laurie Klein 23 Chiming In

 

Dear Mary Magdalene,

About that woeful, bone-lonesome dawn. The gaping tomb. I have questions . . .

Take the man you mistook for the gardener. Was Jesus wearing unfamiliar clothes — perhaps on loan from a kindly local, out watching the sun rise? The risen one minus His seamless robe might have looked visibly chilled.

Or did a vestige of hell’s filth linger beneath broken fingernails?

Was His face weathered by heartbreak?

Perhaps those dark eyes blazed bold with hope: a visionary gaze, consecrated to growth.

But no, you recognized God when He called your name. I’ve read the stories. I wish you could tell me more.

Freed from your hellish past, when did the flashbacks finally cease?

Did your thoughts break into blossom whenever He spoke? And when did your dear, new, sapling-self first begin to flourish?

Between the early and latter rains and seasons of drought, your prayers must have overflowed: sorrows and shocks and joy-sprung awe. Was it hard to embrace such rigorous training?

And did Jesus ever mention espaliered trees? Ancient Roman gardeners would curb a plant’s growth to maximize yield in a limited space. Picture a fig tree growing in one plane, like a hieroglyph on the wall of a tomb.

Mary dear, imagine the process . . .

First, choose a sunny spot, bounded by a trellis or wall. Plant your sapling beside it. Clip away suckers; they siphon strength from the roots. Snick.

Shear off any limbs thrusting themselves forward. Lop.

Gently now, lest a bough break, bind the remaining side growth to the lattice at the key cross points.

Does this sound familiar? The cutting back. The unrelieved stretching. The waiting, waiting, to bear fruit. Pears or citrus, perhaps. Or figs, first grown in Eden.

Mary, Mary, how did your garden grow? Inch by inch, I imagine, as natural tendencies conformed to the chosen framework. Espaliered trees, like disciples, abound via tender, vigilant patience. Care is paramount. Consent is all.

Dear Marry-the-moment Magdalene, first to herald the resurrection, you embraced the reshaping. Again, and again.

May I do no less. Alleluia, amen.

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Friends, what would you ask Mary M?

espalier

To learn more about espalier (from 1400 BC tomb paintings to present-day practice) start here: https://hort.extension.wisc.edu/articles/espalier/

From the archives: Reflections

Photo of Figs by Joanna Kosinska on Unsplash

“S” espalier photo, yours truly

Thanks to Kate Bowler for her thoughts on the Easter gardener, in her new book, Good Enough

Filed Under: Immersions Tagged With: care and consent, espalier, fig, flourish, fruit, pruning, sapling, stretching April 11, 2022

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