Tuesday, March 15, 2016

Sometimes, It Takes Some Time~

He pats the dirt one more time,
(just because, I think)
then, looks at me and smiles.

"There you go, Beautiful. Now, you have a lilac bush of your own!"

And, I have to laugh, and cry, and hug him all at one time.

Calling it a bush is faith in action.
For what I see, sticking out of the ground before me, is a clipping.

Stopping by his mother's house, earlier in the day, I had breathed in deep the aroma of fresh lilac blossoms exploding from her lilac bush.

"Oh, I love lilacs! They always remind me of my childhood and walking through the front gate at my Grandma's house. I wish we had a lilac bush."

And with that, my love had reached down into his pocket, pulled out his pocket knife, and clipped a clipping.

Now, here we stood, welcoming our own lilac bush.

Each year the clipping grew, sprouting more limbs and more leaves, but sadly, no blossoms.

One year went by.
Two years went by.
Bigger and bigger the lilac bush grew, but still no blossoms.

"It takes time, Beautiful," my husband would gently remind me.  "Remember, it started out as a little clipping. Once this bush matures, it will blossom.  It just takes time."

Three years went by.
Four years went by.
Five years went by.

And, then,

suddenly and amazingly,

this week it is happening.

The blossoms I have been waiting for are appearing for the very first time.
I'm the only one to see them.

My love, who lovingly planted the small, tiny, clipping passed away before he ever saw the "fruit of his labor". Knowing this, causes a sea of emotion to billow up inside me and escape in tears.

Not owning a pocket knife of my own,
I go into the house and come back outside, scissors in hand.
And, I clip the small limb showcasing this "miracle".

I bring it inside and place it in a small vase,
small enough to carry with me,
wherever I may be -
at the kitchen table,
seated on the couch,
or tonight,
asleep in bed.

And I think about my Grandma,
the very one who these aromatic blossoms remind me of.
How she prayed night and day, day and night,
and all hours in between,
for my Grandpa.

My Grandma longed for nothing more than for my Grandpa to come to know and love Jesus the way she did.  Modeled out before him, in the day to day living of her life, my grandma preached the gospel without using words.  Her humility and sacrificial love, her patience and unending kindness, her forgiveness and unconditional love - this is how I first caught a glimpse of Jesus.  It's a huge part of the reason I still see Him so vividly in my life today.

And, then,

suddenly and amazingly,

it happened.

My Grandpa started attending church.
He started learning about God.
And, before long, he was baptized.
he, my mom, my two sisters and me,
were the only ones to see it.

Grandma, who lovingly planted the small, tiny, seeds of faith into his heart, passed away before she ever saw the "fruit of her labor".

And, I'm starting to understand more,
this principle of sowing and reaping.
How something planted in faith,
and nurtured in prayer,
will reap a harvest.
It's simply a matter of when.

I'm also starting to understand, too,
that the planting isn't always for us.
Sometimes, (most times it is beginning to seem)
the planting is for them.
It is for those who come behind,
those who come after,
those who come down the road,
around the next bend,
as the next generation.

Regardless of whether or not we see the fruit,
regardless of whether or not we are around to see the outcome,
what we planted
can and
very well may
come to fruition.

"It takes time, Beautiful," my husband would gently remind me.  " . . .  It just takes time."

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful gift this year, Stacy. God knew where you would be this year, didn't He?
    Still keeping you in prayer.


Thank you for leaving a "heartprint" of your own.