Petunias and Spider Webs and Hope
As I type, we haven’t had rain for weeks. Our world is dry. Farmlands are parched, gardens are wilted, and flower beds are cracked by dehydration. Grass has lost its luster; blooms of Spring are browned beneath the relentless exposure of bright sunshine. Trees are beginning the annual process of letting go. The crunch of Fall is eminent even though summertime weather lingers.
On a recent walk, I meandered through adjacent neighborhoods and found myself walking the campus of St. Leonard here in Centerville. I turned the corner and stepped onto a wide path of paver stones. Then, I was absolutely stilled. Growing from between the narrow crack of stones was an oasis of two bright pink petunias flanked by tiny green leaves. Nature’s radiance pierced through the most unlikely setting. The statement of beauty amidst such barrenness caused me to stop in my tracks. The exquisite grace of these two blooms looked like they’d been transplanted from another world. Yet here they were, born from a place of lushness invisible to me.
That same day I was watering my newly planted boxwood bushes. I noticed a spider web that stretched like a canopy over top of the small leaves. I admired the rainbow configurations glistening as the web collected droplets of misty water. Although I tried to avoid direct hit with the water stream, I soon observed that this web was pretty tough. No matter how much water landed on the threaded spider silk, the web remained intact. How could something that seemed so fragile be so stalwart? When everything else was brittle with dryness, this delicate web exercised remarkable durability.
I was struck by these examples of what’s possible despite the odds. With regards to flowers growing through a sea of stone, the unimaginable can become. I mean, it’s not often you see bright pink flowers arise from the ground in the middle of a patio. And that spider web remaining steadfast despite a deluge of water is a profound reminder of nature’s resilience.
Drought, both literally and figuratively yields weariness. Both for the earth and for our spirits, the lack of sustaining life flow makes it hard to remain strong. I reflect on those times I’ve felt drained or worn out just like everything else outside my kitchen window. Drought makes you tired, unmotivated, and uncreative.
Recalling my two very remarkable examples of nature’s strength despite the odds reminds me of a message I once heard from an Episcopal minister. In her sermon, she reminded her congregation that even though you may feel especially challenged or alone or engulfed in heartache, grace is still moving in ways you cannot see. She went on to say, even though we may not be fully aware of it, goodness is still working. Sometimes, the grace revealed is bold, like when two single pink blooms rise in greatness amidst a palate of rock. Other times, we can be encouraged by how extraordinary strength is possible in the ordinary. I will never look at a spider web again without profound respect for how impressive the work of one small little creature can be.
We all hit times of personal drought that may yield a tendency to recoil, retreat, or withdraw into a hardness of the heart. Such times can be lonely. Those periods when I’ve felt emptiness settle into my thirsty spirit, there seems to always be some simple act of nature that uplifts me to a place where greater perspective enlightens. The world may feel very dry and bleak, but sometimes, as long as we can still pay attention, there just might be a bright pink petunia waiting to quench you with hope.