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Devotion 15
Wednesday March 16

Many, many years ago, I bought a plant at a sale at the St. Petersburg Garden Club. The label on the plant said ‘milkweed.’ That is what I wanted to add to a patch in our yard where there were butterfly plants. So, in went the plant. It was a small plant. Maybe 6-8 inches high. We eagerly awaited the milkweed and the butterflies it would attract.

Time went on. The plant grew. No flowers appeared. Years went on. And the plant continued to grow. Up over the roof of the lanai. Over the roof of the house. Up and up it went. Narry a flower or seed pod or butterfly. We had someone come to do some tree work for us and they told us it was a camphor tree. And sure enough, when you broke off a branch there was a wonderful aroma of camphor.

The tree grew and grew. It was right near the pool, and the lanai support, and the roof, and was blocking the path around the pool. We clipped and clipped, but we could not keep up with this prolifically growing tree. So, sadly, we finally decided to remove it. Wrong plant in the wrong place. So much for it being milkweed.

We took the tree out over three years ago. The stump was even dug out to prevent any re-growth. Last week my husband, Jeff, and I were in the backyard and we commented on the former tree. Remember that big tree we took down? Remember the wonderful fragrance? Remember how Jeff even dug out the whole stump?

Today as I was skimming the pool, I noticed something. A new plant amidst the Mexican heather and gingers. A little bushy thing with shiny leaves about 6-8 inches high. Yup. Camphor. After all of this time. After all of our efforts to take it out. It is coming back. Persistence. Patience. Dormancy. Regrowth. So many messages here about the wildness of grace! God doesn’t give up on us. Sometimes things don’t happen when we want them to, but that doesn’t mean they won’t happen ever. Sometimes we work and work at a problem and think we have resolved it and then it rears up – again. More work to do.

As for our camphor seedling, maybe we will transplant it.

Prayer
May we have a sensitivity to the persistence and patience of the ways of Divine Love. May we sustain our hope. And may we, too, have persistence and patience with ourselves and with the world — never giving up on the wildness of grace. Amen.

Devotion Fourteen
3.15.22 Tuesday

This Lenten season, we are reflecting on the wildness of mercy. When we really look around us and examine our lives, it’s really hard to come up with something like an equation that will explain and predict mercy. So often mercy comes in unexpected ways and in unimaginable amounts. When you think of some of the pain and injustices in our world and in the past, it really is incredible that we have come through as we have. This should give us hope for the future.

But even so, we are always tempted to look after our own. To take a smaller, more manageable view of life. To pare things back so that we can feel productive or successful. But Divine mercy does not work that way.

Rabbi Martin Buber (1878-1965) shares this story from the Jewish tradition:

“The Yehudi was asked: ‘In the Talmud it says that the stork is called hasida in Hebrew, that is, the devout or the loving one, because he gives so much love to his mate and his young. Then why is he classed in the Scriptures with the unclean birds?’ He answered: ‘Because he gives love only to his own.’”

That is how it is with the wildness of mercy. No limits. No convenient borders or boundaries. We never know where we are going to be needed. Where we will be called to serve. Where we will be led to have an influence or make an impact. It could be anywhere. Anything. But we know that if we only look to our close circle, we are cutting ourselves off from the vast expanse of the wildness of mercy that we are not only called to give but that we also receive. Yes, have compassion upon yourself and those close to you, but don’t stop there. Don’t try to tame the wildness of mercy.

Prayer: May we be grateful for family and friends and those who encircle us with love and care. And may the compassion we learn at home teach us that the whole world is our home and the entire web of life is our family. Amen.