Little Hibiscus Tree

My beautiful hibiscus tree had a great summer season. At one point I counted 65 buds in the afternoon sun, delighted with coral gems blooming four and five at a time! They would greet me every morning when I stepped outside, Bible in hand, to spend time with the Lord. That tree breathed fresh encouragement to my soul every time I passed. Ah, thank you for seasons of refreshing, Father.

If you’ve been to my house you know how much I love flowers, but I especially care about that tree. It is a remembrance of the years with my husband. I even matched the color of its petals to paint the two Adirondack chairs (an anniversary gift from our kids) where Frank and I would sip coffee, reminiscing about our lives together in the tropics and dreaming about the future.

Last winter I thought she would die. She suffered a blast of bitter cold in the process of moving. I pruned her severely and tried protecting her through the transition, but arriving in my new home, all the leaves withered up and dropped to the floor. It was a horrible sight--but I couldn’t give up. I wrapped it with decorations and kept watering and hoping… even speaking to its lifeless limbs! “You have to survive! You and I both have to get through this somehow!”

I thought by determination I could see her through life’s traumas. More water, more sun, and more prayer for renewal. That’s why I shared a sense of sheer victory when she came through it with brilliant blooms like messengers of hope.

We had beautiful warm days this October, still in the sixties, and the tree kept blooming prolifically. Then temperatures started dipping. We reached a meager 34 degrees one morning and the leaves frosted. “How am I going to save you?” I whispered. “I need someone to help me.”

My landlord, a tree guy, stopped by just in time and together we carried it up and across the threshold, placing it lovingly beneath the skylights so it could continue to enjoy the same hours of sun it was getting on the patio. A perfect environment! I hoped it would thrive again and appreciate returning to the warmth of my kitchen. I thought I was saving it, but would it respond?

I think I know how God feels. He is the vinedresser. He cares and provides for us, and sent Jesus to carry our burdens. Then he took us lovingly in his own arms wanting to bring us into the warmth of his fellowship. The question is, will we respond?

Sadly, my little tree is in a state of shock again. All the leaves have been turning yellow and falling on the floor. Sometimes, I admit, I feel like doing that too. (Just like me, a hibiscus doesn’t handle change very well.) Every morning I'm sweeping withered leaves and the upper branches are almost empty. Here we go again, I huffed under my breath. What a terrible waste!

But what’s this? Just when I was losing hope, one more flower bloomed in brilliant red yesterday morning. It’s very low on the branches and hanging on for dear life at a place I wouldn’t ever expect to find a bloom. Oh God, you are too much. You’re reminding me of your continuing story with another message of perseverance.

I need to be like that!

Bloom, even when everything’s against you. Go the extra mile when the chill of winter is upon you. Break out in love for no other reason. Forgive or reach out to someone who’s hurting when you feel like you have nothing left. Smile for someone else’s happiness even if your own heart is broken.

Even if no one sees, no one else knows or understands but you and He alone,

bloom for God!

“Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” Phil 1:6