This reflection was written while I was visiting Steubenville over Thanksgiving break.
I woke up this morning in an old familiar place. It’s good to be back in Ohio and more than anything I wish I had a point in writing this post. The harsh wind blowing flurries around outside wonderfully contrasted with my sweater and hot peppermint tea in a newly painted room on the fourth floor creates a cozy morning that makes me want to stretch out on the rug and write.
And so, since I am slightly avoiding writing a literature review for my Master’s project, excuse my while I indulge myself…
I’ve spent the morning thinking about gardens. Strange, it being so cold out now.
Bloom where you are planted—The watercolored parchment announced softly to the still room.
Six months ago, I was pulled up from the roots and replanted in unfamiliar soil. Soil, dry from the four-month drought and in a much, much warmer environment.
The heat is more welcoming now than it was in August, when I was certain the atmosphere was trying to smother me. It was an uncalled for bear hug, which made me hesitant to acknowledge her again. But even warmer than the weather was the others planted beside me. Those who were natives on the soil made it known that we were welcomed and loved.
But the lack of rain makes it difficult for me to relax.
I keep turning to the Divine Gardener for sustenance. And sometimes it seems that He has placed me on His windowsill, where I am cared for and delighted in each morning. I feel His love and recognize it in everything around me. There are other times, however, when I feel like I have gone dry and hanging on to the promise of water. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I will water you.
I feel like the soil around me has turned into desert.
But having returned to the garden I had once called home, I see how this time in the desert has strengthened my ability to love.
I wonder if Christ knew that when He fled to the desert before His passion and death. Perhaps He created the desert knowing that Love must be tested. Perhaps, on a really trying day, He stumbled across a small, but bright blossom in the arid land. Perhaps it made Him smile that such a little flower could still bloom under such conditions.
Maybe I am His desert flower.
But even a desert flower needs a little rain now and again. So for now, I will rest in this familiar soil and drink deeply.
A Myth Retold 