The profusion of newness...

April! Newness bursting forth everywhere. The new leaves on the tree at “my” parking spot in Klabzuba now block the view of JPS. I went to the Botanic Gardens one morning recently and the profusion of daffodils and some small wild lilies that grow close the ground and azaleas, etc., etc. was impressive. As I drive between here and Granbury, the plum and red bud trees are marvelous, as are the large clumps of bluebonnets and verbena. I’m looking forward to the progression of black-eyed susans, Indian paintbrushes, fiery pokers, Queen Anne’s lace, wine cups and many other wildflowers whose names my grandparents taught me and I have now forgotten. All of this natural beauty brings me great joy.
Reflecting on this beauty and joy, I’m reminded of some lessons from childhood. Every summer my family went to a cabin in the mountains. My brother and sister and I liked to play on what remained of a huge fallen pine tree. We dubbed it “Tree-mendous”. We clambered over the rough bark, which as years went by crumbled at our touch. We explored the crevices where the standing tree trunk had been invaded by the beaks of red-headed woodpeckers, squirrels needing nesting places, and branches too heavy with ice or over-growth had broken off and exposed the tender, bright wood (softer than the protective bark. In these crevices now, soft mosses grew and doodle bugs and beetles found nourishment and made homes (We often took the doodlebugs from these metropolises and raced them on tracks we made of sticks and rocks. I hope that we returned them to these former abodes, but I don’t really remember.). Other places where the original tree was deteriorating we found lovely flowers—some of which, I confess, went home in our hot little hands to be presented with great love and admiration to our mother or grandmother. These flowers were put on the kitchen table where we ate and reminded us of the bounty and gifts of nature that almost matched the profusion of love shared in that home in the woods. In still other spots weakened by time and the elements, shoots of new trees were taking root: natural reforestation.
I could go on and on, but I think I’ve said enough for you to notice what all the present newness of spring has reminded me: new life and growth springs from disaster if we allow it to do so. Often human nature wants to bulldoze away the great falls, the results of the lightning bolts, the tremendous tragedies that befall us in life. Modernity wants to clear out all the deadwood of difficult or broken relationships, flawed or shattered dreams, overgrown or unrealistic expectations, losses from separation and death. Yet, even if what has befallen us is moved out of the way, for healthy new growth to occur, compost and fertilizer (manure) must be applied and allowed to nourish and strengthen.
As you enjoy the beauty of spring and the profusion of newness this April, I urge you to be reminded of the bleakness, rain and darkness that has made this newness possible and I encourage you to engage in prayer about them and to find friends, family, a support group, a chaplain or some other individual or group with whom you can share the tragedies of your life so that with time they can nourish newness of your life in all its profusion. And when the new growth begins to sprout, celebrate it and share it also. Life is good, and when you think life might be over, know that new life can be even better!

- Candace Stroup, chaplain