Mary’s favorite magnolia is planted too far north. In winter we would find ourselves with brooms in a snow storm knocking the snow and ice from the leaves and branches that carried too much weight. At times I thought it was folly. This tree seemed so strong that any damage would surely be minor. Indeed, after particularly hard winters, it would bloom longer and more beautifully.
In the wake of Mary’s death, God gave me a sense of strength to rival that tree. He also gave us a March storm. I waited too long to clear the accumulating snow. I heard the crack of a low branch and cursed my pride. I let Mary’s memory chide me and I felt stupid and small as I scrambled up and down the icy branches to prevent any more harm.
The break was significant and the branch needed to be removed properly. It was also in full view of the picture window, a reminder that I wasn’t taking care of everything. And yet, I didn’t get to it. I’ve got a lot of excuses, but maybe I liked that reminder to keep my pride in check.
Spring and summer continued on in a dreamlike road trip and the half-snapped branch awaited my return.
It’s late July before I inspect the break again and resolve to prune the unhealthy limb. But it doesn’t look unhealthy. All the leaves are green and there’s…a bloom? This is the shady side of the tree and I’ve never observed any blooms there before. In July? It’s usually done blooming in early June.
The limb is low, but not touching the ground; the break is splintered and bent, but not worsening; and the tree just looks happy.
I brought the fragrant, unlikely bloom inside and placed it a bowl with water and some of the rocks my sons had collected on our road trip. I’m a born romantic, new believer, and sucker for a good metaphor.
Maybe that broken feeling inside isn’t as bad as it seems. Maybe you can still bloom without much sunlight. Maybe at the unlikeliest time you can find hope.
God bless,
Jason
