Of Daffodils and Disappointments

We are so disappointed. When we moved to Lebanon in August of 1993 we were delighted in the following Spring to discover a circle of daffodils around the light pole along the front walk . . . but only one bloom. "Odd", we thought, "but we'll give them a chance and thin and fertilize them." Each year since, the ring of daffodil plants proudly circles the light post and each year the same singular plant blooms. Late last Summer, Nancy and I really worked over that bed of daffodils, loosening up the soil, separating bulbs, and fertilizing the area, all in the hopes of inspiring something new to happen. This Spring . . . a circle of plants and one bloom. We are so disappointed.

I have heard it said the definition of insanity is, "Doing the same thing over and over again, each time expecting different results." So, maybe Nancy and I have been living proof of the insanity with which we live every day, I'm not sure yet, neither am I sure what our next steps will be.

I am not enough of a horticulturalist to know if there is any chance that the other daffodils will ever bloom, regardless of how much we work with them, separate them or fertilize them. Still, I look at the daffodils and wonder about the one and think about Jesus and the ten lepers: He healed ten, but only one returned to give thanks. Only one really bloomed. The other nine were healed, yet missed the opportunity to blossom in their new life. Notably, Jesus did not remove the healing of the other nine, but commended the one who came back. Jesus celebrated the beauty of the one who burst forth in raucous color.

Were Nancy and I to dig up the circle of daffodils plants in order to re-plant new bulbs which would bloom, it would be likely that the one which has been blooming all these years would be lost along with the others. So, what are the implications of that decision? Is the one who faithfully returns each year in full and vibrant bloom, the one which has been giving thanks for the opportunity to reflect the sunlight of God's care, to be considered collateral damage for the sake of making the whole of the daffodil bed more productive? Yet, if we do not make a change, there they will be for eternity . . . a whole congregation of daffodils circling the 'T' shaped light post looking pretty in the Sunday breezes, while only one ever blooms.

It's kind of like the church, isn't it? Which pierces my soul when I ponder on the fact that my fervent prayer is that God remembers me even, maybe especially, when I do not bloom regularly or well. What to do about the daffodils . . . I'm not sure. But, for today and all of the other days in which that one daffodil blooms, I'm going to savor the color, the wonder, the majesty of that one which blooms each year. I'm going to remember it and love it for the gift it has become in my heart. For, truth be told, that is exactly what I pray God does with me.