Waiting to Bloom

I love the Japanese cherry blossom trees that bloom where I live outside of Washington D.C. This region isn’t known for its natural beauty, but come springtime, over 1.5 million people flock here from all over the country and the world to see the stunning bursts of pink.

I love them so much that my husband planted one in our front yard as my Mother’s Day gift in 2019. On our trip to the nursery to pick out my tree, the worker helped us find one with the most beautifully shaped canopy. He warned us that it might take a few years after planting to have a tree that is bursting with flowers. We didn’t mind hearing that we would have to wait; we knew the beauty would be worth it. 

The worker was right. The following year, we were thrilled to see our tree bounce back from the shock of being uprooted and replanted and grow a few stunning blossoms. The next year, the branches were a little longer, the trunk a little sturdier, and we had even more blossoms to enjoy. Now, more than four years later, I look out on a tree that is still small but shows signs of growth. Buds that formed last summer are waiting for the right time to reveal the treasures they hide. I anticipate that this year’s display will be even more beautiful than the last.

My tree, a Kwanzan flowering cherry, is the kind that blooms in late spring or early summer– much later than the trees circling D.C.’s tidal basin that add a brilliant splash of pink to a landscape dominated by open green spaces and white monuments. Some years those trees are tricked into blooming early by a “false spring.” A warm spell in February triggers the unfolding of buds and for a while life seems to have finally come after the long, cold, gray winter. Inevitably, excitement is quickly replaced with disappointment as the warmth is followed by a harsh frost that kills the flowers and threatens the health of the trees. By the time the Cherry Blossom Festival comes around, the trees have lost their flowers.

This is one of those years. While driving my son to school today I saw the most brilliant display of pink cherry blossoms and for a moment my heart rejoiced at the beauty before remembering that it is still early. I thought of my tree standing bare in my yard and felt a sense of relief. My blossoms may come later but they will not be vulnerable to an unexpected frost.  

So it is with this season of faith and grief. I often long for a sign that God is at work in my life. I long for evidence of growth and the unfolding of purpose that will make it obvious to myself and others that I did not lose my husband in vain. I desperately want to know that there has been purpose in this winter season of grief. I want new life to come and to come soon.

I look around me and see others blossoming. I rejoice with widowed friends who have found fresh purpose, an exciting ministry, or the gift of a new relationship with a godly man. I see signs of obvious blessing– fresh blossoms– and breathe a sigh of relief. The spring has come; their barren season is over. God’s goodness is on display. 

As I look around, I also start to wonder– what about me, God? I long to rush through this dormant time and get to the beauty. Buds that grew some time ago look no different today than they did before. Where is the promised flower? Where is the beauty from my ashes? I am eager to spend less time digging roots down into the secret places in my soul. I want to blossom with new life and possibilities.

Yet, just as it is for the tree in my yard, blossoms that grow too soon are vulnerable. It is in waiting and patient endurance that the flower hidden inside of the bud is protected from the threat of frost. To rush the healing process and try to move forward into new places and new adventures before God has prepared me would be foolish. My timetable might look different, my blossoms may not yet be on display, but God is at work in this season of stillness. Life is at work even if my branches look barren.

In Matthew 12, Jesus says, “The kingdom of Heaven is like a grain of mustard seed that a man took and sowed in his field. It is the smallest of all seeds, but when it has grown it is larger than all the garden plants and becomes a tree, so that the birds of the air come and make nests in its branches.” Going from a tiny seed to a strong tree that can shelter nesting birds takes time. There are years when a tree is nothing but a shoot, small enough to be plucked out or trampled on. As it grows bigger, its roots grow deeper and its trunk grows thicker. Over time, it develops stability and strength. Eventually it is able to withstand weather extremes and shelter life in its branches.  

As with the kingdom, so it is with our faith. Faith takes time. There is slow, secret growth. Roots grow deeper, trunks slowly widen. Years and years pass by and eventually that faith is able to stand strong. And when it feels like our faith has been uprooted by tragic loss– the blossoms withered and the branches burned down– it takes time to recover. What may have looked like a flourishing faith and a flourishing life might now be reduced to a stump; to ashes. It takes time for the roots of faith to dig down again into the soil. It takes time to recover, rebuild, and for new growth to occur. 

How do we begin to grow again? Jesus himself gave us the answer when he said,  “Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me. I am the vine; you are the branches. Whoever abides in me and I in him, he it is that bears much fruit, for apart from me you can do nothing. (John 15:4-5)”

The power to grow isn’t in our own efforts; it is in Jesus. As we abide in him– letting his truth saturate our hearts and looking to him for peace and hope when our world has been turned upside-down – slow, healthy growth will occur.  He has promised that when we abide in him, we will bear fruit. It might not be now, it might not be soon, but fruit is coming.

Be encouraged, friend, if you are in a season in which your faith and life feel dormant.  Others may be blossoming around you, but God is still at work. He is growing you. He is bringing life to you. In his time and in his way, the blossoms will start to grow. 

Love,

Elise

Reflection Questions:

How is God growing you in unseen places during this season?

What do you long for that seems slow in coming?

How is it good news that the secret to growing is abiding in Jesus?


Elise Boros

Elise Boros is a writer and campus ministry worker. She graduated from Penn State University and went on to serve alongside her late husband Greg in various campus ministry roles at both their alma mater and George Mason University, where she is currently on staff with Cru. Elise is also a prolific writer and has written many blog posts covering topics such as grief, suffering, and faith as they relate to her personal story of losing her husband to heart failure. Today she continues to devote her life to Jesus and to serve in college student ministry.

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Growing in the Ordinary

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Loneliness in the Season of Love