Blooming Lily Bears Lesson About Life and Friendship

Photo 1 of 2

Six years ago I rescued a pot of lilies from the discard table in the hall, where coworkers put items they want to get rid of. At that time the lilies were almost past their prime, but still they lasted for several weeks. I placed the pot in the little alcove in my office where the sun shines most of the day. I wasn’t too worried when they died back in the winter, and sure enough in the spring green shoots rose in the pot.

Every week I watered the plant, and occasionally added fertilizer. I waited throughout the summer, but the leaves died back again without even so much as one flower. Telling myself the plant   needed a year of rest and blooms would come with the spring, I was content. New Year’s arrived, then Lent. The days lengthened, the weather warmed, and even more leaves sprouted than before – but still no flowers.

I repotted the bulbs. The next year I again got leaves but no flowers. Then in spring the soil remained bare. I figured I’d killed the poor thing, but the bulbs looked healthy, so I kept them. I was rewarded come spring, when leaves unfurled once more, but again they refused to bloom.

At that point I gave up. I carried the pot outside, dug a hole, dropped in the bulbs, and covered them with earth. Whether they survived the elements was up to them.

When the weather warmed I looked for the leaves, but saw none until this morning. As I came up the walk a pink curve in the ivy caught my eye. Yes, the lily has bloomed.

This pleased me so much that I knew God was trying to teach me a lesson. As soon as I opened my heart to hear him, I realized how well the lily acted as a metaphor for a problem I’ve been wrestling with. A relationship recently ended. As with the lilies, I had invested a lot of effort in it. I did everything I knew how to do, and while there were greener moments, the friendship never really bloomed. Walking away was a difficult decision, but when the moment finally came I knew it was the right decision. Still, I felt guilty. What would the other person do without me?

Looking at the flowering lily, I realized that once again I’m making the mistake of thinking it’s all about me. Neither I nor the other person was blooming in our relationship. I did everything I could, and I think the other person did as well. The failure of our relationship wasn’t the fault of either of us, it was our nature or the environment or whatever it was that made it so that, like the lily, we couldn’t bloom in the pot in which we were placed.

When I planted the lily outside I feared it wouldn’t survive the elements. Instead, it thrived. It has bloomed as it never did during the six years under my care. Now that I am past the anger and hurt of my original reaction to the rift, I pray the same will be true for my former friend.

Almost a week after congratulating myself on hearing God’s message about this problem, another thought occurred to me. All this time I have been worrying about how the other person will fare without me, but the truth is that the broken relationship also planted me in unfamiliar soil. I, too, have the chance to either wither or bloom. If I am to bloom, I will need to devote to that effort the same care I gave to the relationship.

I am looking forward to seeing how the results will flower.

Marie Mischel is editor of the Intermountain Catholic.