Thursday, April 28, 2011

Bigger Picture Moment: Growing

Much the way my small boys seemingly explode out of their winter jeans this time of year, with long, lanky arms and legs transforming from round baby chub, the buds just outside our front door burst through clumps of rain-saturated Earth, open, breathe, grow up toward the sun.


And all of these vibrant bursts of color are exquisite.


Well, except the lilac bush.

This year, it hasn't done much of anything, despite the pruning it underwent the past few falls and the rescue attempts we'd made to untangle its roots from weeds.


Even in winter's passing, the long season where life outside our four walls seems to lull and lie dormant for months upon gray months, the lilac bush stands bare branched, with no sign of small purple buds, no fragrant petals -- just long, thin, branches sadly swaying in the breeze.

It's kind of sad, really, even for a novice gardener like me.

I know just how lovely that bush could be, if only it would bloom.

I mourn for the lilac bush.

This past fall, I came to a major tunring point: I had an opportunity to join Vantage Point3: the Emerging Journey, a leadership-and-skill honing class hosted at our church.

I knew little about the class, but my mentor had promised me that it would rock my world. At that point, I was really struggling to know myself, who I was, what my strengths were and what my calling was.

And at that point, I'd been fiercly trying to hold onto pieces of myself that I thought defined me, refusing to bloom into something new if it meant losing those definitions.

Digging my feet into the frozen ground and silently hibernating in the very own winter of my heart, I wrestled with totally jumping into the material during the first few weeks.

But, like most gardeners, the Gardener of my heart wasn't content to leave his land barren.

So He watered me, he sunned me and he weeded out my heart.

I discoverd this Gardener in ways I'd never known before -- how He's always been working and tilling and moving the land, even when it seems dormant and still in the dead of winter.

I discovered that the seeds He planted in my heart weren't meant to stay seeds, they were meant to morph and transform and grow into very specific fruits that he had sown into my soul.

And in the light of sun and the flood of rain waters soaking the ground, even the most stubborn of seeds budged, broke through the soil and emerged on heels of winter.

Perfect? No. Not even close.

But blossoming, growing, yes.

Though there's a lot of spring left, a lot of growing still to do, I'm learning that I can't stay the same and really be all I was meant to be.

If we don't bloom, we end up barren, with the Gardner mourning His lilac bush and all it could have been.


Simple BPM

Every Thursday, we share the harvest of intentional living by capturing a glimpse of the bigger picture through a simple moment.

Want to join us? Simply capture your moment in whatever fashion speaks to you. Grab the Bigger Picture, Simple Moments button {code to the right}. Link your piece at Melissa's. And then encourage the two {or more} people who linked their moments before you.

After linking, you might find your moment shared at our community site for Bigger Picture Blogs.

Live. Capture. Share. Encourage.