Ada Limón is (I think) one of my daughters’ favorite poet and this is one of three poems that she shared with me when I asked about Hope-etry.
Instructions on Not Giving Up - Ada Limon
More than the fuchsia funnels breaking out
of the crabapple tree, more than the neighbor’s
almost obscene display of cherry limbs shoving
their cotton candy-colored blossoms to the slate
sky of Spring rains, it’s the greening of the trees
that really gets to me. When all the shock of white
and taffy, the world’s baubles and trinkets, leave
the pavement strewn with the confetti of aftermath,
the leaves come. Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.1
The center of this poem (nearly literally and definitely figuratively) is the line, “It’s the greening of the trees that really gets to me.” Ada then expands on that of how the green leaves come after all the barrenness of winter and then the blossoms of Spring. After all that has passed (the mess, the hurt, the empty), the green leaves remain. And I love the way that she describes the opening of a leaf at the end - “unfurling like a fist to an open palm.”
This week I began the full transition from one place of ministry to the next. I don’t “officially start” with ResoundingJoy Church until a week or so from now but I’ve moved things into my new office and I am currently in process of repainting the office (along w/ the help of the above-poetry-sharing daughter). The office was a pretty stark white that was also slightly yellowed and I knew that I needed something different in there. After looking over a LOT of paint cards, we settled on a green/blue that had the name “secluded garden.” Here’s how it is looking after the first coat.
Still very much in progress - the leaf isn’t unfurled yet into the open hand. A second coat will be painted later in the day and then comes the unpacking of boxes and the hanging of things on the walls. Again, the unfurling is still in the early stages.
But my desire is that this space will feel like a place of hope. I pray that it can be a space of hope for me when ministry gets more difficult (and it will). I pray that it will be a space of hope with those with whom I’ll meet here. I pray that it will feel like a space of an open hand to be able to be honest about the mess, the hurt, and the empty that life brings and a place to celebrate the movement of God in and through us.
I also was moved by this contrast of the new color, the old color, and the blue tape to protect the wood. It’s all in there - what has been, what is, and what’s yet to be.
My longing for this ministry I’ll be a part of (and honestly of each ministry I’ve been a part of as pastor) is to live out those last few lines of this poem...
Patient, plodding, a green skin
growing over whatever winter did to us, a return
to the strange idea of continuous living despite
the mess of us, the hurt, the empty. Fine then,
I’ll take it, the tree seems to say, a new slick leaf
unfurling like a fist to an open palm, I’ll take it all.
Like this next photo (and the others too), we’re always going to be unfinished. We’re always going to be in-progress.
But we’re working at it. We’re seeking to show up to one another and to God not with clenched fists, but instead unfurling and opening hands and hearts, taking it all in. Hope is found when we allow for spaces like this.
I know photos don’t ever do indoor colors well, but what do you think of the color?
Speaking of color, here’s the colors of Wednesday’s sunrise. A sight like this was worth the 5:30am head-out and dealing with the awful heat/humidity...
Grace, Peace, Love, Hope, and Joy,
Ed
PS - Scout was wanting to beat the heat as well but Graeters was not cooperative in letting her go inside for ice cream...dogscrimination... (She did get a pup-cup though)
Thank you for this reminder for
The hope that springs eternal
In us. Greening over our barrenness
Oh, and a Scout place somewhere on the wall