The Tulips

One of the most spectacular sights I saw in Europe was not a towering medieval cathedral, a marble statue, or a great masterpiece of art. It was the tulip fields at the Kuekenhof Gardens in Amsterdam. Here is where words fail me trying to describe it.

In addition to the spectacularly sculpted gardens, there were acres and acres of planted tulips, as far as the eye could see. The atmosphere was hushed, almost reverent.  I was in college, just venturing out as an adult, and had never seen anything like it, never imagined such stunning beauty. Fast forward a few years. . .


'Two lips. Three lips. Four lips. . ." my two-year-old counted as we were passing some tulips on our morning walk one bright spring day in Delaware.  As beautiful as the Kuekenhof Gardens were, seeing tulips from the eyes of a child makes you appreciate the whole world in a different way. Don't kids just say the darndest things?  


Last spring I spent the blustery month of May in Chicago. It made me realize how much I miss the changing of the seasons. (Let me clarify: I do not miss Chicago winters!) It was still too cold for my Florida capris and open-toed sandals that I had packed, but I bravely bundled up my frozen now-tropical toes for morning walks. It was well worth it to smell the damp, rich earth as it pushed up the first signs of spring: tulips, crocuses, daffodils, and hyacinths.


When we bought our first house in Delaware as a young couple, one of our first tasks was to landscape our barren yard. We drove down to the local nursery and bought flowers, bushes, and trees--the house didn't even come with grass!  My mom donated some of her prize roses, and we planted flowering gardenias (my husband never liked them--he said their smell reminded him of the graveyard), a Japanese maple tree, azaleas, and a magnolia bush. But by far the most spectacular plants in our yard were the tulips and daffodils.

Tulips are planted in the fall, not the spring, when they immediately begin to root. During the winter, when the landscape is covered with snow, and the earth is hard and frozen, they lay dormant. You almost forget about them--that's what's so surprising about them popping up in the spring.  You've been concentrating so much on surviving the winter that you forget, every year, that spring is just around the corner. Soon after the tulips burst through the soil and majestically declare that winter is over, the plant begins to die. However, new growth continues in the deep, dark underground world where roots and bulbs reside. According to tulips.com  "the period between blooming and the plant dying is referred to as the 'Grand Period of Growth'. . .the energy flow reverses and starts to go downward to build new bulbs instead of upward to form new flowers." It's not too much of a stretch to see the lesson here.


The tulips (and the three lips and the four lips) remind me that even on the coldest, darkest, gloomiest day, God is working in my life, in the deep recesses of my soul where no one can see. Although it may outwardly appear as if age is taking its toll and is marching towards its logical conclusion, it may actually be that the Grand Period of Growth has just begun! God has planted a seed that only the Master Gardner can sow, and only He can harvest. No one can stop its growth. Someday, (maybe even today!), it will push out into the sunshine and bloom with astonishing beauty. Thankfully, I am confident it will not smell like the graveyard--it will be an 'aroma pleasing to the Lord', not because of anything the flower has done for itself but because it is God's own handiwork.


Incredible? Amazing? Words fail me. 


And that's not so surprising.


"Therefore if anyone is in Christ, he is a new creature; the old things passed away; behold, new things have come."  2 Corinthians 5:17


"But thanks be to God, who always leads us in triumph in Christ, and manifests through us the sweet aroma of the knowledge of Him in every place."  2 Corinthians 2:14