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