“Every flower that ever bloomed had to go through a whole lot of dirt to get there”

 

I had engaged in fierce battles with myself, Lomalinda, and God, so it took me a while to recognize it, but finally it sunk in: If I wanted to transition out of culture shock and settle in well at Lomalinda, I’d have to change my perspective.

 

I’d have to notice the good that was going on around me and my family.

 

The kids, Matt and Karen, had met friends and enjoyed playing with them. Matt was especially enjoying adventures the neighbor boy, Glenny, was taking him on—like throwing rocks at bulls wandering through the neighborhood and fishing for piranhas and chasing giant cockroaches. And playing with boa constrictors.

 

Lomalinda’s birdsongs sounded different from the ones I’d enjoyed back home, but I decided to find the beauty in them. And my kids had parrots living in their yard! Parrots! That would never have happened back home in Seattle.

 

On one of our first days in Lomalinda, Ron and Lois Metzger introduced themselves and invited us to dinner. Their yard teemed with tropical plants and flowers, including orchids. Orchids! And Glenny’s big brother Tommy grew orchids in a special shed he rigged up. Dozens of other brightly colored flowers grew all around Lomalinda. Even though they weren’t familiar to me—like bougainvillea—I began to notice their intense beauty.

 

During our first two weeks, we received a dozen dinner invitations from our new colleagues. They lavished their welcomes on us.

 

We soon learned that hosting friends for meals was the most common way people entertained themselves. We had no televisions or movie theater, and the world then knew nothing of videos, VCRs, the Internet, PCs, laptops, iPads, or cell phones. Many folks played table games and read books in the evenings, but the most popular social pastime was enjoying dinner with other families.

 

Long before we landed in Lomalinda, her people figured out the importance of connecting. “Much more happens at a meal than satisfying hunger and quenching thirst,” Henri Nouwen wrote. “Around the table we become family, friends, and community, yes, a body.” (Bread for the Journey)

 

Lomalinda’s people got it—we needed each other. Though I didn’t yet recognize it, I had arrived at a God-scheduled appointment. He wanted me to see the community as His hands and feet. He wanted me to look into their eyes and see His. When a family invited us to join them at their dinner table, He wanted me to see them feeding His lambs.

 

God and Lomalinda’s people heaped upon us one blessing after another after another. Life was going to be good there.

 

I would have to extend grace to myself, though, because I would make progress in fits and starts. Some days I took one step forward and two steps back.

 

But like Barbara Johnson said, “If things are tough, remember that every flower that ever bloomed had to go through a whole lot of dirt to get there.” 

 

Yes, I’d have to go through a lot of “dirt”—doubts, difficult transitions, tears, homesickness, despair—before I could bloom where I was planted.

 

But I did bloom, eventually. 

I did bloom where I was planted!

 

Barbara continues:

 

“The Almighty Father will use life’s reverses to move you forward.”

 

And He did.

What seemed like reverses turned out to be tools God used to move me forward and upward.

 

 

Blooming where you’re planted

If I’d known Lomalinda had such lush flowers, perhaps I wouldn’t have dreaded moving there quite so much.

Our lives are so much richer for flowers, don’t you think? “Where flowers bloom,” said Lady Bird Johnson, “so does hope.” What a lovely thought.

As a native of the Pacific Northwest, I knew nothing about tropical flowers except for what I’d run across in a florist shop or greenhouse. Was I in for a surprise!

Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 11 of Please, God, Don’t Make Me Go: AFoot-Dragger’s Memoir:

Tropical vegetation surrounded us, hurrying to grow taller and thicker. Hibiscus plants sprouted everywhere, covered with new crimson blossoms each morning. Cup of Gold, with its large yellow flowers, grew around our center; white and golden Frangipani (Plumeria) gave off a heady, tropical fragrance; and Bird of Paradise grew wild in low swampy areas. 

Begonias in red and pink thrived in shade; Veinte de Julio, or July 20, named for Colombia’s independence day, showed off large frilly blossoms of orange and yellow; Mimosa lined pathways, decorated with tiny lavender-colored poofs; Lantana bloomed in red, orange, and gold, and Lomalinda was home to many more flowers and vines I couldn’t name. 

Some people collected orchids, gathering them from low jungle areas. Glenny Gardner’s brother, Tommy, had an orchid shed with purple cattleyas, small yellow ones, white ones, and strings of tiny pinks–a dazzling display. 

And gardenias grew along the entire length of our house. Gardenias! A hedge of gardenias! During my teen years, a young man might give a gardenia corsage to his prom date, but in Lomalinda gardenias by the hundreds, gardenias by the thousands, bloomed outside our windows, their inebriating perfume filling the air.

And how could I have left bougainvillea off that list? Their hot pink blossoms, or red, or orange, simply glowed under brilliant sunshine.

Living among such flowers was a new experience for me.

And it was not just the flowers—it was the trees, too.

Palm trees were new to me. I’d seen photos, of course, but to live among them—that was utterly exotic.

Here’s another excerpt from Chapter 11: 

A variety of trees edged our yard: lemon, papaya, avocado, mango, a bamboo grove, a tree with round pink blossoms resembling a burst of fireworks, and a tree people called Jungle Ice Cream. Kids pried open its pods—a couple of feet long—and ate cotton-candy-like fluff surrounding the seeds.

I still have to pinch myself: Lemon trees grew in my yard! And papayas, avocados, and mangos. Unreal!

I was in for pleasant new experiences with Lomalinda’s vegetation, but beforehand, while I was still in the States, I couldn’t have guessed that. I was begging, “Please, God, don’t make me go to Lomalinda!”

When I got there, my life fell apart and I plotted to run away.

I wish I’d known then about award-winning author Barbara Johnson’s wise words:

“If things are tough, 

remember that every flower that ever bloomed 

had to go through a whole lot of dirt to get there.” 

Yes, I’d have to go through a lot of “dirt”—doubts, difficult transitions, tears, homesickness, despair—before I could bloom where I was planted.

Barbara continues: “The Almighty Father will use life’s reverses to move you forward.”

I can attest to that. What seemed like reverses turned out to be tools God used to move me forward and upward.

When recalling those early experiences in Lomalinda, it hurts a bit. But I share them with you in case you’re going through troubling times—your own “dirt.”

Perhaps God is moving you toward something beautiful, something precious. Watch for it—watch for the days when you’ll be blooming where you are planted.