Lessons for 2023 from an Amaryllis

I’ve often said that I have a “black thumb” because plants given to me have usually died rather than thrived. Thus, when my sister gave me an amaryllis bulb kit that was intended to bloom at Christmastime, I was worried.

 

Little did I know, as I valiantly tried to strictly follow the directions on how to plant the bulb in the included soil and pot, that observing the growing cycle of this lovely gift over the coming days would help me see how I could make 2023 become a year of increased joy and satisfaction. 

It took more than two weeks before one, then two, then finally three tiny bits of green poked through the top of the bulb and I could be sure that I hadn't accidentally killed it by giving it too much or too little water or sunlight. 

 

More weeks passed before buds began to appear on two stalks, one growing much taller than the other. It was more than two months before the first of three blossoms fully opened on the tallest stalk on Christmas day.

 

While I watched and waited as the amaryllis went through its growth process, I was reminded of why patience is a virtue that brings peace of mind. Once I began to trust in the instructions on the box, I calmly waited for the bulb to put forth leaves and blossoms. In a similar way, I know that I can avoid anxiety about promised blessings that I long for when I willingly trust that they will come to me in the timing of the Lord––which may be far in the future. 

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Over and over, I was surprised and delighted by what seemed to happen overnight when I looked at new growth in the mornings. At times, the stalks seemed to shoot up several inches, or what I thought was a leaf suddenly swelled into a bud, or a blossom that was almost completely closed was suddenly fully open. 

 

I was reminded that I need to look for things that I can see in nature, in the events of my daily life, in social media, and in all my relationships, that can both surprise and delight me. 

 

I must not allow depressing news of the world, or the knowledge of all the sicknesses, cruelties, tragedies, and sufferings continually afflicting our Mother Earth as well as millions of people––including those of friends and family whom I dearly love and deeply care about––to blind me to all the good and happiness in the world, as well as all that is sweet and beautiful in my surroundings, my relationships, and my situation in life. 

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A few days after enjoying the striking spectacle of seven gorgeous blooms, the first three blossoms started to shrivel and die. As I cut off their entire stalk, I pondered the realities of death and transformation. In the days since, I’ve watched as some small, green shoots at the side of the stalks began, day by day, to grow into five lovely, curving leaves poised gracefully beside the remaining stalk with its four brilliant red blossoms. 

Today, I noticed one of final blossoms beginning to shrivel and droop, even as a small, new leaf has sprung up to join the original five that have grown over three inches since I took the photo above. Could it be that one of those sturdy leaves may touch the petals of the last blossom in farewell before it dies?

I have been reminded that both death and birth are essential transitional events in our eternal journey as sons and daughters of Heavenly Parents. Many beloved relatives and friends have left me behind as they passed through the veil to embark on the next stage of their existence. But new grandchildren have been born, and  interesting people continue to enter my circle of acquaintances in this, my eighth, decade of mortal life.

Just as the new leaves of the amaryllis plant have added a refreshing, strong, and distinctive beauty to the remaining stalk and blossoms, many new and renewed friendships are now enriching my life; and many of my treasured relationships are either healing or strengthening and deepening in wonderful and amazing ways.

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Before too long, all seven blossoms and six leaves of my amaryllis plant will have withered and died, and my windowsill will no longer be graced by the ever-changing beauty of its presence. 

But thanks to that thoughtful Christmas present from my sister, a host of brilliant mental images will gladden my thoughts whenever I gaze at the place where it flourished. I'll smile as I recall each important lesson that her gift prompted me to ponder.

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Thank you, dear slow-awakening, fast growing, surprisingly glorious, winter plant! You arrived on my doorstep as a bulb in a box, and I stepped out of my comfort zone to try to help you realize your potential. Because of what I have re-learned from you, I hope to be more mindful of and grateful for the blessings that each new day offers me. 

Because of you, my now beloved amaryllis, I am now being more attentive to opportunities to do good to those around me. My heart grows happy at the thought of bringing a bit of amaryllis light and delight, either virtually or in person, to those whose paths may chance to cross mine during this promising new year, 2023.