I’ve been thinking about the tree outside of my classroom lately. In October 2017 I started working in this particular classroom. It was the perfect time to see the tree in it’s fall glory. The leaves are thick and the tree is strong. It’s a great shade tree, keeping the morning sun from heating up our classroom too much. And we’re on the second floor, so we look right out at its crown. It holds nests and squirrels traverse its bark.
Every year, I just sort of took it for granted. It’s just a tree, after all, and I prefer to enjoy watching the occasional deer who would frolic across the ground, mother deer with their fawns. Beautiful. Pastoral. Delightful as I spend so much of my time away from the country.
But last spring, as we returned to the buildings at what we thought was the end of the pandemic, I noticed something I hadn’t noticed before. Blooms.
Distractions
I kinda assumed that maybe I hadn’t noticed because I had always had droves of students in my classroom, spring schedules chock full of mandated testing, and twiterpated teenagers. Maybe I had only noticed because the spring was, for once, a slow pace with fewer than half of my students required to attend each day due to the hybrid schedule.
But a colleague pointed out that it was the first time it had ever bloomed.
The first time.
Honestly, I was kind of relieved. I’m not known for stopping to smell the roses, but I usually don’t ignore them, either.
And I can’t stop thinking about it, even as I write this in the fall, dreaming of the spring so I can get back to my next summer break.
Tulip trees are late-bloomers. They literally take at least 15 years to start blooming. Sometimes 20.
Reminds me of the Christian life.
Tulip Trees and the Christian Life
There’s so much that goes into really cultivating a beautiful life for Christ, ya’ know?
Like, at the beginning of our walk with Christ, we’re not spiritually mature. We may think we are, but we’re still gaining strength–depth. There’s something beautiful and special about a new Christian. Like a newly planted tree, there’s so much potential and joy in seeing it.
But once we get through a couple decades of seeking Christ, of fighting with Christ against the world’s gusts, a new beauty emerges–a beauty that is extraordinary and unexpected. A beauty that we didn’t realize wasn’t there before. This beauty is a result of patience, love, service, determination, seeking God, and sacrifice. It’s a beauty borne of labor and selflessness.
Abloom
I suppose there are several ways someone could realize their metaphorical tree is abloom.
Maybe you are mentoring a believer, reading the Bible with them. Maybe you forgot that you didn’t always know something that this believer is learning. And you’re thankful for the struggle you went through so you could learn it.
Maybe you’re watching other, younger believers talk about the faith on social media and you kiiiiinda cringe because you remember when you weren’t as careful with your words or opinions. This was before you understood that believers aren’t called to stand up in self-righteousness. You have gratitude for growth and mercy.
Maybe you see your social media posts from years back and are embarrassed that you were so flagrantly unloving toward others instead of inviting them to come and see. You pray for more opportunities to speak with love, grace, mercy, and encouragement.
No, we’ll never “arrive” at a perfect life before God. That’s the whole point. But God provides the growth. First Corinthians 3.7 says that God provides the growth. And He certainly does this in a myriad of ways: through community, through failures, through successes, through prayer, through Bible-reading–through time. We are always being cultivated.
And, for that, I’m thankful.