As I sit to write this reflection, Peter is having his final zoom meeting with his class, and the rain outside this morning seems appropriate for the feelings of the day. There’s some relief – it’s not been easy for any of us (though my Spanish is improving – I just learned the word for worm, lombriz). But there’s also grief – it’s hard to say goodbye to friends and a beloved teacher, even when (maybe especially when) you haven’t seen them in person in 2 months.

On the table is a bouquet of lily of the valley cut from our yard. Lily of the Valley are some of my favorite flowers – the way the bright white peeks out amidst all of the deep green, and the sweet smell of the blossoms. I watch for them each spring and I’m glad they are blooming now.

There are some gospel hymns about Jesus as the lily of the valley; I did some research online this morning and learned that the flowers are considered a sign of a return to happiness, or renewal of love. I also learned that they are very fruitful – apparently a single root can grow 50 bulbs. One site claimed that as spring flowers they are a symbol of the second coming. They’re also associated with May Day, and the labor movement. Who knew one flower could mean so many things?

I can remember as a little girl going with my grandmother to my great aunt’s house – the house they both grew up in - to dig up some lily of the valley from the yard to transplant at my grandparents’ new home. I don’t know if it was in connection with any symbolism, or if she just liked them, but now they remind me of her.

I’m grateful for the reminder today – of roots, of nourishing love, of growing things, of new life. And I’m reminded that sometimes it seems to take forever for things to grow – so much happens underground, hidden before we see shoots and leaves and blossoms.

One of my favorite stories from the Frog and Toad books for children is about a garden. Frog gives Toad some flower seeds and tells him that if he plants them, he will soon have a garden. It is hard for Toad to wait. He yells at the seeds to grow. He wonders if they are afraid to grow. He waters them, he reads to them, he plays music for them, he finally falls into an exhausted sleep and wakes up to tiny green plants poking through the soil. Sometimes it seems to take forever for new things to grow.

I’ve had several conversations this week about how much waiting and uncertainty are part of our pandemic experience, and also how this pandemic magnifies issues we had before, as a society and as individuals. My prayer is that even in the waiting, when many things seem hidden or even afraid to grow, good things will be magnified too – the kindnesses we show each other, the wonder of ordinary things like worms in the dirt and lily of the valley peeking through the dark green, the small daily ways we seek shalom.

I was reminded this week of this prayer for growth and of lament from Mechthild of Magdeburg. Mechthild was a Christian mystic who lived in Germany in the 1200s.

Lord, my earthly nature is stood before my eyes

like a barren field

which hath few good plants grown in it.

Alas, sweetest Jesus and Christ,

now send me the sweet rain of thy humanity

and the hot sun of thy living God head

and the gentle dew of the holy Spirit

that I may wail and cry out the aches of my heart.

Amen.