The Poinsettia

Poinsettias just shout "Christmas!" to me. They are everywhere at Christmas, including this one in my neighborhood. I can't resist buying at least one or two during the season, but the day after Christmas I haul them out to the trash, as they lose their luster and are not so showy the rest of the year. But at Christmas, they shine.

How they came to be a part of our Christmas traditions is steeped in legend and history. There are many versions to the legend, which by most sources, start with two poor Mexican children who were on their way to the town's nativity play. They had nothing to bring to the Christ child, also a tradition (wait, do we have this backward?? Gifts for Jesus...?... I may have to come back to that thought), so they grabbed some weeds by the side of the road and placed them by His manger. At some point, the 'weeds' miraculously became a fiery red color, dramatically highlighting the focal point, baby Jesus.

You can believe that or not, but history does record the fact that Joel Poinsett, a physician, botanist, and statesman from South Carolina, first introduced them to the United States in 1825. Under President James Monroe, he became the first U.S. Minister to Mexico, where the plants are indigenous. In Mexico the plant is called: "La Flor de Noche Buena", "The Flower of Christmas Eve." And the rest is history...

The idea that even the hills and the plants worship God in their own way is a thought I had not pondered very deeply. When I want to worship God, I put on my best clothes, drive to a church, and sing and pray with the rest of the congregants. In the plant world, I suppose you gussy yourself up with blossoms and aromas and fiery red flowers. A hill or a meadow would cover itself in wildflowers and shimmer with dew at dawn. And rocks?? I have no idea. Maybe they speak a language we don't understand, but God does.

God longs for us to worship Him this season in any way we want to communicate with Him. And the funny thing is, He delights in gifts we bring to the altar--for others. A clink of a coin in a Salvation Army bucket. A toy for a child whose parent is in prison. A homemade cake for the elderly neighbor in a nursing home. A smile. A hug. Even a kiss under the mistletoe.

He speaks the language of love. And that can be translated into any language, is understood in every culture, and never loses its luster.

"The grasslands of the wilderness overflow; the hills are clothed with gladness. The meadows are covered with flocks and the valleys are mantled with grain; they shout for joy and sing." Psalm 65:12-13