I have had this African violet for 3 or 4 years now. It sat on my desk at the apartment, stretching its little leaves to gobble up the sunshine coming in from the windows on either side. Then it made the move with us to the MBlakes, where it sits on a fabulously sunny ledge. But it never blossomed. Not even once.
Until a couple of months ago, when this little guy popped out. And it's been blooming ever since. I have three blossoms on it right now. The weird thing is that nothing changed. I'm not watering it any more or any less. It's getting the same amount of sunlight that has for the past 9 months. But here they are, nonetheless.
I feel like it's supposed to teach me something, my perseverant little African violent. It reminds me of Arthur Burk's story about Psalm 1. The psalm talks about a man who delights himself in the law of the L-rd, that "he will be like a tree firmly planted by streams of water, which yields its fruit in its season." The L-rd asked Arthur what the fruit-bearing season of a tree was. It's a bit of a trick question, you see, because it depends entirely on what type of tree it is. I think about this question. I wonder what my fruit-bearing season will be.
It certainly isn't a fruit-bearing season right now. It's the type of season that will be noticeable when the tree is cut and the rings are examined. They'll recognize it by the signs of forest fires and lightning strikes. Hard, trying times. I know, I know. These are the times that drive the roots deep. Try telling that to the tree after the fire rages, when its bark is burnt and there are trees missing in its forest.
But still, my African violet blossoms are an arrow of hope. When it seems that there is nothing, sometimes there is a miracle of life just beneath the surface. And in His timing, Life can spring forth. Come quickly, L-rd Yeshua.
