Coming back from the brink.
A blessing for all who feel at the end of their rope at times.
Dear fellow traveller,
Yesterday night we came back from a long weekend “up north” in Minnesota. It had been raining the whole day from heavy cloud banks stretching across the horizon. Coming home, we tried to drive along behind the storm, tailing it, and watching the block clouds scoot in front of us. We hoped this way to avoid the tornado watch which came with it.
As much as I love late Spring, I am not fond of tornado watch weather. It scares me. Violent weather scares me. Violent people, too.
Entering the dark home upon arrival, I ventured into the kitchen while my husband was carrying our sleeping child upstairs.
I looked around, as I always do when coming back, to greet our home.
I walked the quiet rooms, opened the windows, and stepped on the back porch to greet the garden, only lit by occasional lightening, still shaking the skies. Heavy drops were still falling, watering the garden with new oxygen.
What about you, I asked the indoor flowers, do you need a drop of water?
And then it happened.
I came by the single pot I had put in the west-facing window sill in our sun room. During our time in Germany, the plant had died down to the ground with no trace left behind.
“Shamrocks are sensitive plants” I had comforted the kind neighbor lady who came by to water. “They don’t like a change of place and probably also not of a care taker”.
I took the empty pot and because I can’t throw things away easily, and because I believe in second chances, and because I also love the paradigm of the fig tree, I found it a new place just in case.
I watered the plain soil carefully, just a bit, just in case.
The little bushy plant had died so completely that it left only sand behind.
How long were we gone? Not even 5 days? And did I not water the empty pot just then before we left? A little bit just in case?
But now, in the barely lit sun room of that very window sill in that very pot a little leaflet greeted me with a smile, as though it knew what I needed most after a stressful car ride and an exhausting ‘vacation.’
And as if that might not be enough, the little leaf was peaking out from behind another one, and even a flower bud was showing up to greet me.
I felt surprised and a little intimidated. Not fully worth of watching such a miracle unfold on a day I had darkened my heart with heavy forebodings.
But there she was. The new baby plant rising from the brink of death.
“Here I am”, she said, and my tired and anxious heart relaxed in surprise.
In the middle of the night I found myself watching that little heart-melting miracle telling its simple message to all who want to hear:
Even when you are
at the end of your rope
(even a rope of your own making),
don’t give up
just yet.
Hope
is
on the way.
A little flower
is on the way,
can you see it?
and another leaf just
unfolding?
And so today, at the peak of another week, I am sending you this picture of hope, for all who feel at the end of their rope at times.
Do not give up. Try again. Perhaps what looks like a dead end will sprout to new life again.
Peace and love always, Almut
PS: If you can, leave a heart, a word or a line which resonated with you in the comments, so we know you have been here :-)
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Going deeper:
I am currently writing a journal article on Hildegard’s theology of viriditas, the all creating and sustaining greening life force, and how it can help us towards an “integral ecology.” It is not done yet, but keep looking. It might arrive this weekend in your inbox:-)
(even a rope of your own making)
Indeed. It is these ropes that are the most difficult to climb.
I have so many of those ropes of my own making!
Thank you for this inspiring meditation about holidng on and trusting that there may be life when we cannot see it.