| Blooming in the dark August 12, 2015
 For the last few years, I've purchased my Christmas poinsettias from The Brookwood Community--a residential/vocational program for adults with disabilities, some 35 miles west of Houston. During the holiday season Brookwood operates retail storefronts in the city, and I've most often visited these. But recentlty I was fortunate enough to spend the better part of a day at Brookwood, meeting many of the citizens there, and talking to them about their work.
Some were painting pottery and ceramic ornaments; others were working in the stone casting studio; some were serving patrons in the community's bustling Cafe. All were happy to tell me about the job they were doing, introduce me to other citizens, and invite me to join them in their activities.
In late summer (in the scorching Houston heat), Brookwoodians begin planning for the community's annual "crop" of nearly 47,000 poinsettia plants. (Yes, you read that right. Forty-seven thousand.) On the day I visited, citizens at work in the horticulture greenhouses were preparing potting soil in containers, separating and placing seedling plants into flats, and moving them into their temporary growing spaces. In just a few weeks, a master gardener explained, these growing plants would be placed in complete darkness to encourage their blooms.
In complete darkness. Up to 14 hours a day, for at least 40 days. No period of darkness, no brilliant red, pink, or soft white blooms. The smallest exposure to light during this time can adversely affect the eventual crop. Perimeter lights on the property. The headlights of a car. Even a roving security guard's persistent flashlight! But when the darkness is respected and endured, the end result is row upon row of brilliant beauty.
You don't have to be an English major to see the metaphor at work here. Brookwood itself was born out of a dark and uncertain time: its founder is the mother of a disabled child who envisioned and sought something more for her daughter than a lifetime in an institution. "Necessity," she likes to say, "is the mother of invention." But before Brookwood bloomed, there was plenty of darkness.
A wise friend of mine recently observed that good things seemed to be coming from my own recent rendezvous with darkness. Creative work finding new expression. A stubborn resurgence of joy. Even a few wild splashes of the color of hope. And why not? God's greatest work was born out of the deepest dark. Three utterly lonely, silent days of it.
Are the lights seemingly out where you live? Do not despair. God is working, even in the dark-- and He alone knows the time required to nurture the manifold blooms that He envisions.
Even the darkness is not dark to You, and the night is as bright as the day. Darkness and light are alike to You. (Psalm 139:12, NASB)
If you live in the Houston area, I recommend a visit to Brookwood. Or, visit them online at www.brookwoodcommunity.org.
© Leigh McLeroy, 2015
www.leighmcleroy.com
"Speak what you feel, not what you ought to say."
|
|
