Black-eyed Susans & Letting Go

When we moved almost 9 months ago from Michigan, I brought a small tuft of my black-eyed Susans to transplant here.  They were a gift for my 30th birthday from my grandmother.  I wanted desperately to bring the gift with me.  I carefully wrapped the roots in wet paper towels to keep them moist for the long journey ahead, and tucked them in a safe protected traveling place in my vehicle.  Through the years, I had thinned out and transplanted the glorious flowers many times.  I  even shared them with a few close friends, so they could enjoy them in their yards, as well.  I had no reason to believe that the beauty and brightness which adorned the landscape of our Michigan home for more than a decade couldn't also adorn the landscape of our Colorado home.  I envisioned that wherever I would be, some of my grandmother's black-eyed Susans would be WITH me.

After my flowers were planted, to insure their growth, I also planted many of their seeds.  I waited impatiently through the long fall and winter months for spring to come.  I couldn't wait to see if my precious plant survived and if the seeds would sprout.  I longed for them to grow and flourish HERE in this Colorado soil.

As the spring sun began to warm the ground, I grew anxious.  My middle daughter watered seeds, while I keenly watched the plant.  Long past the time new green should have poked out from the Michigan root, I sadly realized my precious black-eyed Susans had died.  My heart ached as my daughter and I realized the seeds, also, would not grow.

To me, it was yet another "thing" from Michigan I had to let go of.  Sigh.  My way-too-sensitive-sentimental-

heart hurt that my grandmother's flowers were not here with me.  It hurt that I "knew" the majority of my gift flowers were still back in Michigan bursting from the spring soil in life-filled green.  "God, all I wanted was one little grouping of them here with me.  Was it too much to ask?"  Perhaps, it was.

Letting go has become so much more than just letting go of my grandmother's flowers.  The black-eyed Susans represented some kind of strange proof to me.  Proof that we bled and almost died to save a little church... Proof that some of the people within that church truly encountered Jesus, and are authentically journeying with Him today...  

 

PROOF THAT THE PREVIOUS DECADE WAS NOT A LOSS... 

 

Proof that if the people don't remember, know, or even understand the depth of ministry that took place while we were there, I would. We would.  We WERE there.  We made some kind of a mark, some kind of a difference in a somewhat thankless town.  We gave until we had NOTHING left to give.  A tiny church was turned around, and so were people.  Why didn't the Michigan flowers grow here in this Colorado soil?  I wanted to remember.  I wanted to look at the flowers HERE and remember that we were once THERE.

The past is something you can't keep. Some things in your past build your future.  Some things in your past you have to let go.  We moved away from the only life we had ever known, and for me it has been a GIANT, heart wrenching process of letting go.

Sometimes we are forced to let go immediately, and sometimes we are given space to heal and are gradually freed.  For me, it has taken the past nine months to truly begin the process.  It may seem somewhat silly that I grieve the loss of my black-eyed Susans, but through my tears I grieve so much more. I TRUST God for the bigger-deeper picture in our souls.  I TRUST that as I faithfully plant, something NEW will burst forth in life-filled-green.  Maybe even something unexpected?  I can't worry about the past anymore.  The future of the Michigan church, and it's people are no longer my burden to carry.  I do treasure the handful of genuine, lifelong relationships that have been forged. These are unspeakable gifts given within the decade of our service.  Certainly, there are stories... stories of WHO and WHY I have become.  Stories about what has happened to me and to us. The stories are mine, and I will tell them, but the Michigan LIFE is no longer mine. That is why the flowers wouldn't grow... couldn't grow.  God knew I was hanging onto something, and he used my precious flowers to show me that I needed to let go.   

 

HE NEEDED ME TO LET GO SO I COULD BE FREE... 

 

Free for what He wants to do in and through me for the future.   

 

I SURRENDER ALL OF ME TO ALL OF HIM.  I SURRENDER TO MAKE ROOM FOR SOMETHING HOPE-FILLED AND BRAND NEW.

My 41st birthday is just around the corner.  I have already asked my sweet grandma, who knows I have grieved the loss of my special flowers, to buy me something new to plant.  I will, again, have "Grandma's flowers."

I will plant.  I will trust.  I will hope.

I BELIEVE HE WILL GROW THE FLOWERS... AND MY HEART~ NEW.

 

I will treasure the gift and the freedom.