When All Seems Lost

You may remember reading about the five azaleas I moved this spring. When my grand re-landscaping project began, I transplanted these healthy, full-grown bushes to a place I thought they’d love. After three years of increasingly ho-hum performance, only one of the five bothered to bloom at all this spring. Which is why I uprooted their now bug-infested remnants, chopped away the hard-as-a-rock clay soil binding their roots, and parked them out where they could get more light, rain, and air.

I also clipped off a good portion of their sad-looking branches so they wouldn’t have to focus on keeping more leaves alive than absolutely necessary. The leaves that remained were so riddled with bugs much of the green color had actually been sucked out of them. I babied them with fertilizer and water and check daily for signs of new growth. To my joy, four of them are leafing out nicely and I have hopes for flowers next spring.

The fifth . . . well, sad hardly describes it. Initially it looked as though it was going to make it, then the weather warmed considerably and I woke up one morning to steadily browning leaves. From my kitchen window, all looked lost. Nevertheless, I kept watering it. Plants can look pretty dead and still have some life in them. Besides, I hate giving up on things unless I really have to. I intended to keep caring for it until the fall rains took over. If nothing appeared in the spring, I’d admit defeat.

Unexpected Hope

But the other day, I stepped outside and peered closely into the tangle of brown and brittle branches. Low and behold, I found green reappearing on the tips of some twigs. You almost need a microscope to see it, but there is definitely some good strong green on that bush.

Now, it’s possible that green was there all along and I just missed it. But I can’t imagine I would have overlooked color which is so bright. Maybe I only noticed it because the brown seems to be so terribly, well, brown and dead-looking. Could it be I’m seeing the last vestiges of life draining out rather than life coming in? Are the leaves loosing color or gaining it?

One more scrutinizing gaze and then I saw them. New, fresh, baby leaves–too young to have been there before the bush went brown.

Now, I may end up with something of a Seussian azalea next spring–spindly, half-barren branches tufted with green–but that won’t bother me at all. No matter what it looks like, no matter if it fails to produce a single flow, I will be rejoicing over it with singing and will allow it to hold its honored place in the garden.

I suppose the lesson here is not to give up too soon on God’s power to revive us. Even when our latest shift in circumstances seems to have drained everything from us, God will keep watering us with His care and grace and mercy until He determines we’re done.

As we use what energy we have left to simply and quietly continue to be, we may wake one day to find unexpected dots of new life greening our hearts with new hope.

Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord
comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal
the counsels of the hearts (1 Corinthians 4:5, NKJV)