The Camilla

         The spring after my daughter was born, I decided to plant a Camilla.  I wanted a unique shrub that I could plant outside my front window, something that would be the first to bloom after the winter.  I chose the Camilla because it was somewhat risky for me.  I do not have a very good track record with keeping plants alive.  But I was so struck by the Camilla.  I needed to try.

            The shrub promised rose like blooms with beautiful dark green leaves that would come out in early spring.  There were warnings of how far north the Camilla would grow, and of watching for disease. My local nursery assured me that with the right conditions, it would grow and live for years to come.  So, I took the chosen Camilla home and planned its exact location, taking into consideration the conditions it would need in order to thrive.  My husband made some measurements and we waited for a day that was not too cool and not too hot. 

              The day came when my Camilla went into the ground.  I began waiting to see what would happen.  The plant grew right along with my daughter, both of them cute and spunky.  It was looking good.

            I knew it would take time to see what would happen.  I watered correctly and took off any diseased looking leaves that threatened its blossoms.  It grew very little at first, but it was holding its own.

            Then one day, it bloomed, beautiful blooms that welcomed spring.  I was overjoyed. 

Then disease came.  The dampness was too much for it. I became concerned.  I knew it might not make it.  But it did not die and I had hope that it would become all that  I envisioned it could be.

            Four years later, we planned our big demolition and move.  The Camilla would have to move or it would be bulldozed down.  It saddened me.  Where could I put it?  I eyed a spot at the edge of our property that would be out of the way of construction, and there it was planted again.

            I was anticipating birth as my husband dug up the shrub and transplanted it for me.  The twins would be born the next spring and there was much to do.  I would have to leave the Camilla.  It would have to make it without me. 

            Whenever we would go by the property to see how the construction of the new home was coming, I would walk over to the Camilla.  I would apologize to it.  I hoped it would not die. 

            When we moved back, the Camilla was barely alive.  The stress of the transplant and the and the harsh sun caused some serious damage.  It looked bad, very bad.  I lamented the loss of my dream.  The beautiful shrub that was to bring me years and years of enjoyment was not going to make it.  The shrub that was to overcome the odds, would never grow.  And so, I gave up and said good-bye. 

            Years passed and I became preoccupied with other plants and projects in and around our home.  One day, as I walked over to view the daffodils near the transplanted Camilla, I saw healthy leaves.  There was still life.  I was surprised.  I thought well maybe it will be alright.  But, the leaves were all that came.  No blossoms and no more growth.

            I decided last year to pull it up.  It was getting in the way of the other plantings nearby.  Who wants to see a shrub that never blooms, blocking the view of other spring perennials?  Not me.  I had started to get angry, even cynical.  I asked my husband to pull it out for me.  I didn't want the reminder of what it could have been. 

            But, he never dug it out and I became preoccupied again.   Eleven years passed since its inaugural planting.  Life continued on while the Camilla struggled.

             One day, I was feeling especially weighed down by life.  And for some reason, the Camilla caught my eye.  I wanted to go to it.  I wanted to face it.  It was like I needed something tangible to reflect my hopelessness.  As I walked over to the Camilla plant, I was overwhelmed with a heaviness, a hopelessness - that I will never change, that other people will never change.  My beloved Camilla plant that never bloomed and never thrived seemed to epitomize how I felt.  I wished it had just died rather than persist. Every time I looked out my kitchen window, it mocked me.  You see, change is hard to come by.  Very, very hard to come by.  Nothing seems to ever give.  Nothing seems to ever show real change.

               But as I walked over to the Camilla, I just about fell down.  Big healthy blossoms were emerging all over it.  It was going to bloom after all!  I was overcome.  The most tangible example of a static life was proving me wrong.  I could almost feel hope grab me by the chest and pick me up.  The Camilla was coming around.  I would come around.  All of those people and situations that were pressing in on me would come around.   I ran into the house and told my husband. 

            “I know.” He said.  He knew? Really?  “I thought that plant was dead, I wanted it gone a year ago.  I can’t believe it.”, I told him.  He smiled.  “You had given up on it, but I never did.  I would go and talk to it every now and then.  Check up on it.”  I was silent.  My husband’s faith was far deeper and longsuffering compared to my own.  I wanted it gone, while he wanted it to stay.  He believed it could live, I did not.

            Now, after at least six years, it is beginning to bloom again.  And yes, I am talking to it now and picking off the few diseased leaves that appear now and then.  It is doing well.  It has a good place and it could live a very long time there.

            The Camilla evoked much from deep inside of me.  It helped to bring some deep seated things to the surface.   
             I have been increasingly overcome by the great love that God has loved me with.   I do not deserve a love with endless forgiveness and kindness.  My actions and thoughts do not merit the incomprehensible love of God.  He does this for me, in spite of me.  So, I have been increasingly feeling the great weight of what this means.  It is difficult to express this kind of love with mere words.  And I have my moments when I do not trust in His love for me, but spurn it.  But then, He woos me back.  And I rest in His love for me again.  I am the prodigal returned and restored and loved.

            And so, I want to love what He loves.  He loves me, and if He loves me, He loves many many more.  He loves people, souls.  I too am learning to love people.  But, people are messy.  They never do what you think they will.  They never behave. 

              I expect people to grow, to change, and to blossom as they are fed and cared for.  I look for what can happen in people who are planted in the rich soil of the truth about God and what He has done.  While I can help create a good  gospel environment, I cannot change the plant.  The plant will do what the plant will do.  All I can do is give it a chance to live.  All I can do is watch, and pray.

            I still feel the pain of lives shattered, broken, mistreated, and forgotten.  Who would care for someone that spurns the love they are given, who throws away friendship after friendship, who subsists on lies and theft?  Not many.  But, these are who God loves. 

            Who would have wanted my scraggly looking Camilla, burning in the sun, far past its time?  Who would continue to love something so unlovable?  But we know that we love because of the great love with which He loved us.  And if His love is great enough for me, my friend, it is great enough for you.

           ~Your Fellow Sojourner

Because I have been given much

Because I have been given much I too must give

Because of Your great bounty Lord each day I live

I shall divide my gifts from You

With ev’ry other that I view

Who has the need of help from me

Because I have been sheltered fed by Your good care

I cannot see another's lack and I not share

My glowing fire my loaf of bread

My roof's safe shelter overhead

That someone may be comforted

Because love has been lavished so upon me Lord

A wealth I know that was not meant for me to hoard

I shall give love to those in need

Shall show that love by word and deed

Until my thanks be thanks indeed

 By Grace Noll Crowell

We All Fall Down

                     Falling down is part of life.  No one makes it very long without falling.  We don’t want to fall, but we do.  Some falls are harder than others. 

            My son fell today, and it was a hard fall; hard enough to earn a trip to the Emergency Room.  The back of his head needed stitches.  In his case, it was staples.  Apparently the staple method is preferred over the old fashioned needle and thread when there is a lot of hair involved.  They like to leave peoples’ “dos” alone.  I was personally hoping for a free haircut, oh well.  And yes, he is now the “cool kid” in the house because we can all see the staples in the back of his head.  And I am fighting the urge to call him Frankenstein. 

            Much of my son’s confidence throughout the ordeal came from being with me.  As long as he could come to me to hold my hand, ask a question, or look me in the eye, he was brave.  When I asked him if I could leave the ER room to take his brother to the bathroom, his eyes pleaded with me not to go.  We waited.  I understood his need for my presence. 

            As children of God we have incredible access to Him.  All of God’s children have the privilege of calling Him Abba.  And we all need our Abba, Daddy, because all of us fall.  We fall short, far too short.  Only our Abba can lift us up.  We fall into pits full of the muck and mire of sin.  But some never get out.  Some never reach for God. 

            When I was about as old as my daughter is now, I was in need of a new bike.  But when I went with my Father to pick out my new ride, visions of a cute pink and white Strawberry Shortcake themed bicycle died.  I was too tall.  I needed an adult bike.  I was crestfallen.  The blue turquoise colored bicycle that came home with me seemed twenty feet high.  I felt that I would crash and fall every time I got on to ride.  But, my Father reassured me that yes, I could ride it, and that He would be there to make sure I was ok.  So, I agreed.

            I remember the day that we walked the bike over to the empty cement slab at the end of the woods behind our house.  I remember feeling my heart in my throat as I struggled to get up into the bicycle seat.  My feet found the peddles and I started to ride.  I wobbled for a few yards and then, crash.  I hit the pavement.  But, Dad was there.  He wouldn't let me give up.  He coached me through those first few times that I road that towering blue bike.  He did not leave until he knew I could get back up.  He stayed as long as I needed Him.  He couldn't keep me from the fall, but He could encourage me to push past the fear of falling. 

            That day, I found a new friend.  I loved that bike.  I rode it everywhere in that neighborhood, far into my early adult years.  What I feared in the beginning became something that I loved.  Those early falls were overcome and confidence was instilled.

            When we put our full trust in God’s grace, He catches us. There are still bad things in our lives, like falling on cement stairs.  But He is able to keep us from ever falling too far.  Our safety is guaranteed.  We may have a skinned up knee for a little while or end up with a scar that never quite fades away.  But those things are only evidences of healing; reminders that He has done great things.

 There is nothing that can snatch us out of His hand.  My sin cannot bar His steadying hand from securing my soul for eternity. He fell in my place.

 There is not a single sin in all the world that He cannot save us from.  There is not a single experience in all of humanity that would exclude us from Him.  There is no power that can undo what has been done on our behalf.  It is finished.  Never again will He bear my blame.  Once was enough for me, for you.  I am my Beloved’s and He is mine, and He is the lifter of my head.

~Your Fellow Sojourner

My little dare devil.

          Have you not known? Have you not heard?

       The Lord is the everlasting God,

           the Creator of the ends of the earth.

         He does not faint or grow weary;

             his understanding is unsearchable.

       He gives power to the faint,

           and to him who has no might he increases strength.

        Even youths shall faint and be weary,

          and young men shall fall exhausted;

              but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

          they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

    they shall run and not be weary;

   they shall walk and not faint.

Isaiah 40:28-31, ESV