Today, I am thankful for Bill's Columbine.
We first discovered it last fall. A pink Columbine growing in the seam that separates the sidewalk from the curb.
Origin - probably seeds from the same Columbines that grow in my backyard garden.
Location - in front of Bill's house (hence its name).
This spring, the plant returned in showy Columbine fashion. Its ability to survive and thrive reminds me of Betty Smith's semi-autobiographical coming-of-age story, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.
In the book, the tree is a "Tree of Heaven," a hardy species that grows in the back lots of New York city. "Tree" is also a metaphor for Francie Nolan, an Irish American girl living in Brooklyn during the early 1900s with her wildly dysfunctional family. The story relates Francie's struggle as she comes to terms with her emerging adult life and family's poverty. Francie's difficulties are not unlike a tree's struggle to survive in a hostile, urban environment.
I'm not sure what it all means - Bill's Columbine, Francie Nolan, trees and growing up.
I do know this, however. While wrestling daily with my life's confusion and uncertainties, I keep hearing these words: bloom where you're planted.
The "Tree of Heaven" did just that. So did Francie (eventually). And, so did Bill's Columbine. Now, it's my turn.
For this blessing, I am grateful.
Amen.
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