Fading Blossoms

There is nothing like Spring in Greensboro, NC, where I live. Although New England owns the Fall, Spring in the south is second to none. The colors of the azaleas, with dogwoods sprinkling a descant above, along with countless plants I cannot name, make me open my eyes in disbelief. I pause near blossoms that offer a scent sweeter than church incense. It’s truly inspirational. Pollen’s yellow film that coats everything seems a small price for such a visual symphony.

But it never lasts.

Slowly the colors fade then turn brown on the ground. Dogwoods eventually look like every other tree, and fragrances blow away. My mind knows the sensations of Spring cannot last, but my heart still grieves. I feel like a child who knows he needs to go back to school after a glorious vacation. Logic can so often spoil a party.

But I’ve always wanted the party to last. It’s what people in 12-step recovery circles call a “character defect.” I want it to always be Spring. I want the colors to always be bright, and the fragrances to always be overwhelming. Like my friend who once said, “I have a disease of more,” I want Spring to be bigger and brighter and last forever.

But one of the hallmarks of a mature faith is accepting the changes in season. I am not just talking about trees and flowers. There are seasons to jobs, relationships, possessions, health . . . the list is endless and always changing. Like a child with his arms around his marbles so the other children can’t get them, I want to hold and protect everything, and everyone, given to me. I want things and people to stay the same.

Yes, everything has a season, the writer of Ecclesiastes tells me, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. Beyond poetic acceptance, I need to make peace with the fact that blossoms fade and flowers die. The only way I can do this is trusting in a power greater than I, the creator of all seasons – past, present, and future. This season, this moment, is a gift. Rather that hoard or protect it, I need to open my arms and heart and give thanks for it. Wherever I see blossoms fading, I need to trust there will be others. It’s not easy, nor do I like it, but I accept it, in faith.