roots and blooms

I went for a walk a couple weekends ago while my daughter was at an early morning volleyball practice.  It was a gorgeous, cool, spring morning and truthfully, I stopped a lot more than I walked.  My intention was to walk over to a local coffee shop and spend a few quiet moments writing but I got a little distracted along the way.  Luscious blossoms everywhere were just begging to be touched and smelled and photographed.

When I finally arrived, the thought foremost on my mind was the transient beauty of spring.  The transient nature of beauty itself.

Spring always provides a feast for the senses.  Each year we are gifted with the opportunity to witness the stunning unfolding of fragrant new life, the sudden arrival of bold yet delicate buds and the warmth and sunshine that coax them into bloom.

There is something exquisite about a blossom opening to the world.  It is an image of courage and possibility.  It is beauty unspeakable, fragile, temporary.

I think we sometimes long for a life of endless spring, a life teeming with newness and dreams unfolding.  If only every day of our lives could look like such a spring morning, a shocking splendour of colour and texture and possibility.  But...there is no spring without winter.  And this is the part we disagree with; this is the part that we would likely do away with altogether if it was in our power.  After all, why suffer through the cold, the desolation, the dormancy, the dying?  And now, only a few weeks later, the blossoms have faded, the fragrance has passed and the glory of spring has lost its edge a little.  Spring surrenders to summer.

I guess this conversation makes me think about roots.  Unlike blooms, roots never have the spotlight.  They never arrive on the scene to take our breath away or inspire.  They are unseen and unexciting, simply growing deeper day after day, year after year, in every season.

I think I can sometimes spend too much energy trying to find ways to keep my life in constant bloom -- wanting it always to be colourful and interesting and new.  I want to see my dreams blossom (and preferably against a backdrop of dappled light, thank you very much!).  But given how quickly spring passes and the dreamy, fragrant petals fall to the ground, I think I would do better to spend my energy on growing deeper roots.

The creator and author of all eternity has a beautiful, perfectly crafted plan and his plan includes seasons -- all of them.  He works out his purposes, each in their own time.  Whether the ground is frozen or bursting with life, whether storm clouds build or the skies are cloudless blue, whether branches bend heavy with fruit or are stripped stark and bare, God is still faithfully and mercifully at work.

He is growing our roots.

Strong. Simple.  Beautiful.

Words and images © copyright Melody Armstrong 2016

a difficult "yes"

You asked 

something important of me

and I said "yes"

not a thunderous kind of yes

that throws open doors

and reverberates through hallways

but a single

fragile

feather-kind of yes

one with almost no weight 

of confidence

at all

the kind of yes 

that might require some shelter

to keep it from wisping away

with my heavy exhales

i can only trust 

that even in its frailty

You hear it 

that it counts

somehow

it is mystery to me

that You are able 

to take one delicate yes

upon    another

upon           another

and create 

something warm enough

to cover me 

during the cold

winter

drift

words and images © copyright Melody Armstrong 2016

listen to your life

......a quote written in my journal.  love it. 

...storms?

...pain?

...sunshine & gentle breezes???

wherever you are today

and whatever you face

may courage abound 

 as you make your way to 

"the holy and hidden heart of it."

(Buechner in Now and Then)

Photos © copyright Melody Armstrong 2013

good news....

is your heart ready for it????

words and images © copyright Melody Armstrong 2013

seeds and growth

Seeds.  Such tiny things.  So seemingly insignificant yet they are the perfect encapsulation for life and promise.

But new growth takes time.  Once these little globes of potential are tucked beneath the soil, you can't do anything but watch, weed and surrender to the process - even when it's painfully slow.  You can't rush it.  You can't control it.   

I learned it again this spring as a huge patch of our lawn struggled to come back to life.  While tender shoots of green were popping up elsewhere, this one section remained stubbornly brown and dry.  (The fact that it was buried beneath a skating rink from November to March could have had something to do with it.)  

So we added seed and loam.  Then we watered and waited.  Nothing much seemed to change so we did it all again in mid July. 

More loam...more seed...more water...more waiting....and still pretty patchy.

There are places in my soul that feel this way sometimes.  

Plenty of seed gets planted and watered, yet I am bare and showing in too many places....nowhere near the lush, green lawn I'd imagined.  It seems to be taking forever to become the person I want to be.

As a result, I'm constantly learning what it means to wait and to trust this process of death cycling into life.  The seed that holds so much promise and potential is only produced once a plant begins to die.  I forget that sometimes --that the dying process is always intimately connected to the beginnings of new life.  Too often, I'm looking for a short cut.  I want instant results --- and by the way, I don't want anything to have to die first!!   

It's September and the grass is almost completely filled in now.  Woooo Hooo!!  Just in time to be covered with an ice rink again this winter.

And maybe, just maybe......after a little dying, a little planting, a little watering, and a lot of waiting, some of my patchy places have filled in a little too.

Thank you to the One who died to make me fully alive.


Words and images © copyright Melody Armstrong 2013

what do you see?

SLOW DOWN.  TAKE TIME TO REALLY LOOK AROUND YOU.  WHAT DO YOU SEE?

I SEE BEAUTY 

IN THE SCRAPS.

I SEE STIFF COLD HANDS 

STRAINED OPEN

RECEIVING

I SEE SOFT HEARTS 

POURED OPEN 

GIVING.

I SEE HOPE IN

EXPECTANT BLUE EYES

OTHERWISE LOST 

WITHOUT 

COMPASSION.

I SEE CAST OFF TREASURES

SPOTTED BY OPEN EYES

 BROUGHT BACK

INTO LIGHT

WELCOMED 

LOVED.

text and images © Melody Armstrong 2013