Hope Deferred (Or Not)

Amaryllis bud rising

“Be strong, and let your heart be courageous,

all you who put your hope in the Lord.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭31‬:‭24‬ ‭CSB‬‬

“Now, Lord, what do I wait for? My hope is in you.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭39‬:‭7‬ ‭CSB‬‬

After the splendor of the apple-blossom amaryllis at the beginning of 2021, the opportunity somehow escaped me to purchase an amaryllis to watch indoors in the winter of 2021-2022. I missed it.

Consequently, after this past Thanksgiving I made certain to obtain one for the current winter. After some characteristic dithering, I decided on another apple-blossom bulb . Amore plants them in the garden after their indoor blooms are spent,. This way the other one will have a companion.

One challenge we have had with our amaryllis blooms is that they become top-heavy and unstable. Some specially designed stakes helped, but this year I decided to try a glass bulb planter with a bulbous lower cavity one fills with water. The elongated top, I reasoned, might provide more support for the long stem.

Never having planted anything without soil or some sort of potting medium, I read the directions several times and paid oh-so-close attention to getting the water level just right.

I waited perhaps a fortnight and checked it. No change. Not even a hint of roots.

Evergreen

"Joy in God is never out of season, nay, it is in a special manner seasonable when we meet with losses and crosses in the world, that it may then appear that our hearts are not set upon these things, nor our happiness bound up in them." (Matthew Henry, Matthew Henry's Commentary on the Whole Bible)

Like the magnolia, joy is evergreen (though not always adorned with blooms). Lord, show us Your glory afresh today. Refresh our parched leaves in this weary wilderness from the fountain of living waters that is Yourself. Set our hearts on heaven and the increasing knowledge of Your love even here. Grant us grace to choose joy by choosing to treasure You above all. When losses and crosses mark our days, make the sorrow a thin place where Your joy shines through all the brighter, so that the watching world may wonder at such astonishing grace and seek you for itself.

Moonflower prayers

 Moonflower prayers

Trumpet fragrance into darkness,

Blooming unseen, past expectation,

From day-sown seed.

Spring Prayer {A Poem}

God of the wildflowers,

I worship You.

Profligate sower of beauty

In unexpected fields of pink and white,

In a cluster of purple iris peeking 

Royal heads our from the underbrush,

In flashes of perfume lavished on wild honeysuckle vines

Scampering up tree, over bridge,

Like a schoolboy at recess--

I give You praise.

Forgive my disbelief

That You,

God of the wildflowers,

Would be any less generous

With me.

Let Your bright gaze

Open my heart

And affections

Like morning glories.

Creation's Song (a poem)

Creation sings God's praise

Day and night, though cities quake, 

Though the strongest fall. 

Breathe in His beauty;

Lean on His steadfast mercies.

Cry to God. He hears.

He shares our sorrow. 

He shelters beneath His wings. 

He fails not His own. 

Grace and faithfulness

Turn mourning into dancing;

Our Lord holds out hope.

On Visiting the Arboretum After a Year at Home {A Poem}

On Visiting the Arboretum After a Year at Home

 

Splendiferous superfluity

Of shades and shapes

Staggered starved, sequestered senses,

As if stained glass shattered,

Shards sinking roots into soil,

Springing up in life

 

Is this how Dorothy felt,

Opening a storm-tossed

Kansas farmhouse door

Into the Technicolor world

Over the rainbow?

 

Or the Sunday morning mourners

Dropping the weight of embalming herbs,

Dropping the weight of their worries—

"Who will roll away the stone"—

Dropping the weight of their weeping—

"They have taken my Lord away"—

To run on lightened feet

Through lightening day

To the disciples—

"I have seen the Lord!"

 

Crlm, 3/28/21

Amaryllis {A Poem}

.

The blooms keep re-enchanting my imagination

As they unfurl petals like the woman of chayil

Facing the future and all its dire prognostications

With hands outstretched and kindness on her tongue.

They bloom so bravely in the window there,

Rose and white streaked satin petals,

Crimpèd edges, curling back like unclenched fists,

Their hearts of streaky green and apple seeds

Laid bare before a world that deals not often kindly

With bare hearts. Before their valiant candor

My own armored, fainting heart beholds its poverty

And sighs.

The Worst That Could Happen {A Poem}

 

What's the worst that could happen

If you set aside your spade,

Paused from cultivating the garden of your discontent,

Lopping off roses and counting thorns,

Planting what-ifs,

Blanketing if-onlys like mulch,

Harvesting heartache?

What's the worst that could happen

If you sowed your sorrows,

Buried shards of shattered heart,

Watered them with surrendered tears,

Offering your brokenness

That the God of resurrection

May transfigure it,

Blooming forth beauty of holiness

And joy from pain?

What's the worst that could happen

If you dared to believe

That God is cultivating--

Through the very desolation that you dread--

A glorious harvest beyond

Everything you thought you wanted?

What's the worst that could happen

If you yielded your crushed and bruised spirit

To the True Gardener

And dared to abide in hope

Of abundant and eternal fruit?

Easter Lily: A Poem

But on the first day of the week, at early dawn, they went to the tomb,taking the spices they had prepared. And they found the stone rolled away from the tomb, but when they went in they did not find the body of the Lord Jesus.

Luke 24:1-3, ESV 

In unseen Saturday silence

Petals unfurl, 

Mute trumpets crying out 

With rolled-away stone: 

"Take hope! Take heart! 

Why do you seek the living among the dead? 

He is not here; He is risen! 

"Your trust, your toil, His promise are not vain. 

Death will be swallowed up in victory. 

This body of death, 

This broken life, 

This night of tears are not the end. 

"At last trumpet's fanfare 

Dead shall be raised, 

Dustless, 

Deathless, 

Glorious." 

White heralds soundless sound: 

"Christ has died; 

Christ is risen; 

Christ will come again." 

Hallelujah!

Maker God: A Poem {Dallas Arboretum, Spring 2018}

O God,
Maker of makers,
From dust, not word,
You formed Adam.
Your breath vivified him,
And you placed him in the garden
You made for him
Until he fell.

O God,
Maker of makers,
I also am clay;
You are the Potter.
You have made;
I have marred.
You remade
And remake.

O God,
Maker of makers,
I am the bronze;
You are the sculptor.
Heat me,
Hammer me,
Bend, stretch, twist me
Into Your design and desire.

O God,
Maker of makers,
I am the bronze;
You are the Sculptor.
Melt me,
Refine me,
Pour me into the mold You carved out
With nails,
With thorns,
With scourge.
Bring me out
On the other side of the furnace
Remade in the image of Christ.

Approach to Poetry Garden

Poetry Garden

Woman's Garden

O God,
Maker of makers,
I am Your workmanship,
Your poiema.
The heat, the change, the transformation
Evince Your hands upon me,
Art and Artist as close as fingerprints.

Leave me not unfinished;
Imprint me with Your maker's mark.


****************
Photos were taken at the Dallas Arboretum during the special installation Kinetic Art of Lyman Whitaker. His bronze sculptures were not static. They whirled and spun in the breeze, changing with each millisecond. This is the last of the planned Arboretum posts. Thank you for reliving the journey with me.