I have a magnolia tree in my yard.
Or, at least whatever type of magnolia-ish tree dares to attempt the supreme act of optimism that is blooming in a fickle Chicago spring. We got snow on our blooming daffodils last week. Last Saturday we got rain, snow squalls, sleet, and sunshine all in one 6-hour period. You get the idea.
This past week as we were cleaning gutters, my husband had to snip off the ends of some of this tree’s branches. It felt wrong, cruel even, to snip off buds that attempt such acts of bravery as blooming in Chicago’s April. So I gathered them inside, completely unsure if we could save them to let them bloom.
Most of the advice I got said the prospects were iffy at best while others complicated preparations. Black thumb that I am, I ditched all of the advice, gave the branches a clean diagonal cut, and stuck them in vases in my kitchen window. My own act of daring optimism, if you will
They bloomed. I’m delighted. Not only at the beauty, but at the upstart defiance of it all. A life lesson, if you will, on how sometimes the unlikely transplant can lead to new life.
Both Ellie and Nash learn the same lesson in COMING HOME TO TEXAS. Calamities “transplant” each of them to Martin’s Gap Texas and the Blue Thorn Ranch. In Ellie’s case it’s running home, in Nash’s case it’s running away, but none of that really matters.
What matters is how they open their hearts to the present, to the gifts and challenges God places in front of them right where they are, even if it might not be where they think they belong.
Where do you feel “transplanted” in life these days? What might God be opening your eyes to see in the situation?