A few days ago, our daughter-in-law Leigh sent me a photograph via text. No words were needed; I instantly understood the story behind that picture of three dusty-pink tulips in a small nutmeg McCarty pottery vase.
By now, most readers are aware of the death of our son Chris and are probably equally tired of hearing about it. But the truth is, one of the only things that makes sense in this grief journey is sharing my words, hoping they help others on this same road.
With that said, let me get back to the image of those tulips that popped up on my cell phone last week. They were gorgeous, and the story behind them only added to their beauty. In fact, my texted response to this image was, “Oh, how beautiful!”
Then, Leigh and I bantered back and forth about how much Chris loved his tulips. Leigh laughed about him planting them two years back, in the mucky cold of winter while sick as a dog.
She reminded me how absolutely determined he was to get those tulip bulbs in the ground of his newly built flowerbed, so they would have enough time to develop roots and lie dormant during the coldest months, then sprout and bloom after the darkness of winter was done.
I did remember. I remembered so vividly how Chris called me to make sure of the timing for planting those bulbs, sharing repeatedly how much he loved tulips and how he wanted them to be a perfect springtime gift for Leigh.
Ironically, those tulips did not bloom too well last spring. Yes, they produced a few flowers, but not a lot in their first season of blooming. But like those tulips, last year, our family was just getting started on our journey of living without Chris here on earth.
Now … as I sat texting with Leigh, I quietly recalled those tulips and that conversation about their planting, and I wanted to share Chris’s words and intentions with my precious daughter-in-law. For it seemed as if even before he died, he knew, and somehow, he was preparing us for what was to come – by leaving us a very intentional gift.
So, I dried my eyes and typed one final text to her, “He loved tulips. And he loved you so much.”
Leigh’s instant reply to my text tugged at my heartstrings, but her words also convicted me to my core. She wrote, “That should be your next story. New life.”
Leigh was right, but only the Holy Spirit knew how right she was.
The day before, I had quietly journaled about that same topic – the loving and gracious way in which God uses the seasons and the cycles of nature to remind us so beautifully of His gift of new life given through His Son, Jesus Christ.
It was too much to text, so I called Leigh to tell her about the writer’s workshop I attended a day earlier. It was sponsored by Southern Christian Writers and hosted by Cheryl Sloan Wray and her parents, David and Joanne Sloan. There, at beautiful Breeze Hill, I sat down with ten other Christian writers to listen and learn from the talented novelist, Valerie Fraser Luesse.
Luesse’s first assignment during the retreat was to send us off to a secluded spot – indoors or outside in the beautiful springtime sun. There, we were told to simply draw a tiny circle around ourselves and work outward, describing what we saw or heard, from the smallest detail to wherever our thoughts carried us.
Now, personally, I hate, hate, hate journaling. I know that is shocking and almost sacrilegious for a retired creative writing teacher to confess, but I do. I absolutely detest journaling my thoughts. I prefer writing with a set objective.
So, after a few minutes of rebellious inner turmoil, I settled into the moment, assuring myself that I was not journaling, but rather, I was completing an assignment to document what I saw around me.
As I sat on a bench under a gazebo, I started with what I saw at my feet – dead leaves.
I laughed out loud at that point and thought, “Of course. Let’s cut to the chase, God, and start with what I know best right now – death.”
But, oh, the love of God, and how gracious He is to us in our darkest, most cynical times. From those dark, decomposing leaves, my eyes were drawn upward to the signs of new life around me.
At that point, I really began journaling (not just completing an assignment) about the beautiful green buds on nearby trees and bushes. I even saw fully blossomed redbud trees and caught glimpses of stark white blossoms on distant trees. Everywhere I looked, I saw signs of new growth, and those signs reminded me that even in the darkest of winter, God already has new life waiting for us.
Before I rejoined my fellow writers, I wrote one final sentence, “Thank You, God, for Your promises of hope and new life that I see all around me.”
Wow.
As I read those written words aloud to Leigh on the phone, we both grew silent, in awe of the goodness of God and His love for us. It is a Love that knew (long before we did) just how much we would need His promises of new life in the dark winter of our grief and longing for Chris.
Even though neither of us honestly had the heart to even recall previous times of greenness and growth right now, our precious Maker had already planted and prepared new life for us. It was a plan that started even in the Garden of Eden, where God demonstrated the perfection of life with Him through His creations of nature, animals, and mankind.
After our sin destroyed that perfection, He still used the seasons of nature to remind us of His promises. Finally, long, long ago – on a place called Golgotha, He sent His only Son. Then, that perfect, spotless Gift purposefully died in our place, was planted in the darkness of a borrowed tomb, and rose again, forever defeating death, hell, and the grave – for us.
Yes, Jesus was and is and always will be God’s totally fulfilled promise of new and eternal life.
So … there we sat, Joy and Leigh Lucius, a momma and a wife, living without Chris Lucius, the man who connected us in the first place.
But, as we cried together and gloried in the tulips Chris lovingly left behind to remind us of God’s precious promises, Leigh whispered ever so gently, “Write it, Joy. Write about new life.”
And I did.
But Someone wrote it even better in Revelation 21:5 (ESV), “And he who was seated on the throne said, ‘Behold, I am making all things new.’”
