Sunday, July 21, 2024

BEAUTIFUL BOUQUET

The blackberry lily is one of my favorite flowers in the yard because it reminds me of my friend Donna (who gave me the first seeds) and because it does fun, beautiful things all summer long. It also reseeds itself, coming back year after year, which is very attractive since I am a poor gardener.

The first tender leaf blades poking up out of the ground each spring promise summer is near. Then tiny vibrant blossoms, about the size of a half dollar, pop out on delicate stems. As the blossoms wilt, they fold into swirly-curlicues that remind me of the fancy spun-sugar lollipops you see at carnivals and in vacation-destination gas stations. Finally, the seed pods swell and mature: they look exactly like ripe blackberries.

Throughout its entire growth cycle, this little flower is a jewel.

Sort of like long-time friends.

If I remember correctly, Donna and I met in 1997, when my twins were two years old. That means we've been friends for almost 30 years now. Wow! We've experienced the best and worst of life together these 20+ years, and in every season, Donna has consistently encouraged me, challenged me, walked with me in faith, and made my world a more beautiful place.

And there are others - old friends, and even older friends (Jill, dear sister, our friendship is positively paleolithic!) - who through the years have made the happy times happier and the hard times softer, who brought light to dark places and who, on sunny days, reflected the light to absolute brilliance.

It is a treasure to have friends who have known me and walked with me through many seasons of life and who still greet me with welcoming smiles and warm embraces despite all my mess. God has been very, very good to me.

But back to the blackberry lily...

Almost every blooming plant in my yard was a gift from someone dear or was purchased because it reminded me of someone dear.

The compound daylilies by the front steps: fibrous roots were scavenged from a roadside gully by my son Nathaniel when he was a small boy, because he knew how much I loved the flowers.

The fragrant pink roses at two corners of my house: started by my sister Suzanne from cuttings off her own rosebush, a very special rose because it had been my grandmother's.

The purple coneflower: Jane Chase taught me how to care for a newborn and treated my first angry breast infection with tea made from the dried leaves of Echinacea.

The fabulous hydrangea behind the house and the glamorous black petunia on the porch: treasures from Helen.

The scruffy hazel bush with its whimsical, fancy-pants seed casings: a gift from Reuben.

The towering cedar tree in the back yard: the younger kids helped transplant the tree from back on the farm when it was just a whip, to remind me of my first grandchild, the one I have not yet met.

If you have followed this blog for any length of time, you know the writer is chronically tired, overly introspective, and frequently battling demons of one sort or another. Yes, I tend to be heavy. But today...

Today, surrounded by flowers and trees and growing things and reminded of the beautiful people God has placed in my life, I am simply thankful.

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