Take Heart: You Will Bloom Again

Something happened this past year that’s never happened before.

No, not that. Or that. Or even THAT.

I’m talking about the fact that my Christmas cactus didn’t bloom. Not before Christmas, and not even around Valentine’s Day, which it has been known to do before.

I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me, given all the other weird and wonky things that have transpired in the last 12 months. But while most of those events have been completely out of our control, I’m pretty sure my poor plant’s lack of blooms is mostly my fault.

Last week, I wrote about the plant my friend’s family gave us for my mom’s funeral, and how it grew so much it practically took over the corner of my dining room. What I didn’t say was that, for a time, it shared the space with my Christmas cactus—the houseplant I’ve owned and loved the longest.

At some point, I decided to give the funeral plant some more room, so I moved the Christmas cactus over to another set of windows. Although it seemed to fit the space well, it didn’t get as much sunlight there, and it was situated right next to a HVAC floor vent.

This was a problem, it turns out. The Christmas cactus didn’t die, but it didn’t thrive either. It lost a lot of leaves, and the ones that remained lost their luster and rich green color.

I don’t know if it was the lack of light, the dry air from the vent or both. Whatever the case, I had a choice. Leave the plant there and let it decline even more, or move it somewhere else where it might bounce back eventually.

I chose the second option, but not soon enough for flowers this year.

One season without blooms doesn’t mean my Christmas cactus will never bloom again. Now that it’s in a better spot, it will bounce back. I don’t know when, but I’m confident that it will.

This is how life works too, by the way.

When I reflect on difficult seasons when I felt like I was barely existing, I can see now that I wasn’t barely existing. I was juggling a lot balls in a lot of areas—many of which I had never juggled before. I dropped them frequently and could barely hold them all up at other times.

I got through, though. By God’s grace. One step at a time.

My prayer journal, which I keep on my computer, shows many, many heartfelt conversations with my heavenly Father during these times. I’ve been looking back at it recently, trying to get a feel for my heart as I’ve been writing about those seasons.

When I peer closely, I can see it. My life wasn’t producing a lot of visible blooms, but growth was happening—much of it deep down under the surface.

A plant—inside the house or out—can stop blooming for a variety of reasons. It might be time to divide it. Insects or disease may have gotten to it. Maybe the painters you hired to spruce up the exterior of your home dumped their paint water on the soil nearby. (Sadly, it happens.)

I’m a patient gardener. I’ve been known to let a non-blooming perennial or shrub go for years, hoping for different results under the same conditions. At some point, though, if the plant continued not to bloom, I’d dig it up.

God, though, is infinitely more patient than I or any other human could ever hope to be. He is longsuffering, always on the lookout for His children to return to Him for nourishment, for grace, for forgiveness. When discipline is required, it might be severe, but it is always done in love.

And don’t forget this important truth. Sometimes our apparent lack of blooms doesn’t mean we’ve strayed from the fold or the Father’s love—it’s simply a result of the season we’re in.

If you find yourself in a drought, a dark night of the soul, a flood, an avalanche, or the wilderness, don’t give up—on yourself or on God. These seasons are difficult. They may extend far longer than we’d like, and sometimes end in ways we never would have chosen.

But they don’t last forever.

I’m sad that my Christmas cactus didn’t bloom this year. It might sound silly to say it, but I am. In some small way, this poor plant is representative of all that we’ve lost or put on hold or had to adjust to in the last 12 months.

And yet, if life has taught me anything in recent years, it’s not to lose heart.

Joy comes in the morning. Maybe not tomorrow morning, but some morning down the road, it will come.

♥ Lois

P.S. I’m linking up this week with #tellhisstory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, Let’s Have Coffee, Inspire Me Monday, #HeartEncouragement and Grace & Truth.