The Lily of the Valley

Two years ago my mother-in-law dug up a Lily of the Valley plant for me to put in my garden. I was excited to have this delicate little flower in my shade garden, but because it is a relatively small plant, and its blooming season is quite short, I missed the blooms on it last year. It blooms right after the daffodils, hyacinths, and tulips . . . so I just forgot to "stay tuned" for this spring flower to make its debut. All that I saw last year was the greenery and dried-out flowers. Then this year, I forgot I even had the plant! But the other day I was planting some hydrangeas . . . and then there it was . . . the Lily of the Valley in full bloom! Without even remembering to look for it, I somehow instinctively made my way toward it. Just as it is often the case with my relationship and connection to Jesus. I know it's there . . . I intend to check in . . . but I get sidetracked, or I temporarily forget what's there and go on to other things that grab my attention. But my soul instinctively remembers the connection I will always have to Jesus. And when I lay down my jumbled thoughts that distract me and tap into my soul's longing, I always seem to reconnect with what I often keep buried in the dirt: Jesus. And He deserves so much more than laying dormant in my heart like a bulb in the dirt. He deserves to sprout within my heart and extend into the world. And I'm worthy of Him living through me as well!


Jesus is often referred to as the Lily of the Valley for many symbolic reasons. But I'll share my favorite reasons why this flower links so closely to Him:


With their heads bowed toward the ground, Lily of the Valley blooms represent the humility that Christ modeled. I struggle so much with this, being very stubborn and strong-willed at times. I constantly remind myself that humility is not weakness but the highest form of inner strength. We can most effectively serve others when we put away our false pride and humble ourselves. I love one definition I found for humility: "the absence of vanity." That about says it for me.

Lily of the valley, I learned, is an extremely fruitful plant. One root can produce fifty bulbs! That's a lot of lily! Through the death and resurrection of Jesus, He bears much fruit, and He glorified the Father by doing so. I am called to do the same. To bear fruit in His name by how I live my life and how I love others. This often produces a ripple effect in the world. As one good, humble deed often leads to other good deed by applying the "pay it forward" philosophy.

Another fact I learned about Lily of the Valley is that it exceeds other flowers in whiteness. This links to Jesus in His purity. In His lack of sin. And it's only by His purity that we are made clean and pure. I used to struggle with the teaching that we are truly made clean--white as snow--in God's eyes by His grace through Jesus. It's mind-boggling that anything so dirty could ever come clean again (although I've seen pressure washers do some good cleaning!). But I just have to come to grips with the fact that there are just some things that are true no matter how well I understand them. And becoming pure is one of those things.

Humility. Fruitfulness. Purity.

Such wonderful symbolism from a little plant like Lily of the Valley. God always seems to get His message across in the simplest things and in the simplest of ways. He really doesn't work through layers of obscurity and confusion . . . He quietly plants His seed within us and lets the answers unfold through our experience of the world, but only if we care to notice. That's the key. Because it's always our choice to listen or not.

From Ticks to Anam Cara

Ticks and Friendship. I have a special friend in my life. A mentor, actually. She is forty years older than I am, but the first conversation we shared on a walk one day proved that age is no barrier for a true anam cara, or "soul friend". According to John O'Donohue, in his book Anam Cara, a soul friend is "a person to whom you could reveal the hidden intimacies of your life . . . You [are] joined in an ancient and eternal way." My soul friend mirrors me in many ways. For one, the mirror reflects back to her younger years, when she shared with me struggles of those days regarding issues that I am currently facing. And the mirror also shows a common thread even today, as we both share a love of writing and hiking and collecting treasures of nature. Recently, we shared a very intimate and humbling morning together, and I wondered if it had become too close for comfort. You see, it all started with a longing to transplant some wildflowers . . .

I love spring wildflowers, and so does my friend. She told me her daughter lives in the woods and has a steep hill possibly loaded with flowers we could transplant. We didn't know what we would find, but it sounded like an adventure perfect for us. She met me at our local park, and we headed to her daughter's house, with boxes, plastic tubs, gloves, and shovels in hand. When we got there, I noticed the hill was very steep and wondered how we would carry the filled tubs and boxes back up. I was about to mention that we stay close to the house and not go too far down the hill, but I didn't want to spoil the excitement in her eyes. So we started down the hill and found some dwarf irises. Perfect! Until my friend, in her excitement, tripped over a root, fell, and went rolling down the hill a bit. She hurt her knee, so she stayed on the ground for a while . . . just long enough for ticks to start crawling on her pants. Yuck! I figured we had better stop while we were ahead, take our iris prize, and call it a day. But she insisted we continue down the wooded hill. And we did, and we dug up more plants, and by then we were literally infested with ticks all over our pant legs. Yuck again! I booked it up the hill in less than a minute, only to realize that she could not move that quickly, and we had supplies to carry up. All I kept thinking of was Lyme disease and how quickly I could get the ticks off of me. But I had to help her, so I did. But like a true friend, she instructed me to get inside the house and shower while she gathered the rest of the things. But first, she insisted, I had to completely strip all my clothes off on the side porch, wrap myself in a black trash bag, and then I could go inside. What? Are you kidding me? Naked, outside? Yep. That was the way it had to happen so ticks were not brought inside. And I listened. And I showered. And then, in a very serious tone, she asked me to scan her bare body for ticks. And she did the favor in return for me. So there we were. Two women forty years apart, standing in front of a full-wall mirror, helping one another remove ticks but also realizing the passage of time on a body from your 30s to your 70s. Pretty empowering, for both of us, if you ask me. I know so much about this lady on a soul level. And now, well, lets say there's not much left we don't know about each other. After we were tick-free, I put on her granddaughter's too-tight-for-me clothes and shoes. And sans makeup I got in her car and she drove me to mine. I left all my tainted clothes and shoes behind in the trash bag. I told her she could put them in her daughter's trash can. I wanted nothing to do with them. I also declined the offer to take some plants home, for fear of bringing more ticks home to my garden. It all felt contaminated to me. The whole day did, actually. Until two days later . . .

My friend called me and said that she had washed all my clothes and shoes. She also said that she had set the plants in her garden to rid them of any ticks, and she had them all ready to give me. She had also gone back to her daughter's yard and collected anything we had left there in our frantic mode. All in all she had taken care of me. She let me shower first; she washed my tick-infested clothes; she aired out the plants she knew I wanted and had all of them waiting for me. Obviously I saw this day as a disaster and wanted to erase all signs that it had ever been, whereas she accepted the moment, thought calmly what needed to be done, saved my clothing, and still retained the true meaning of the day: gathering plants. The plants she saved for me were all delicate, spring beauties, and a few moss rocks (my favorite!). But her lesson in following through, looking out for another, and keeping the goal in sight amazed me. A true anam cara!