The amaryllis opened its two enormous blossoms this week, revealing pink and white splendour and raising the scent profile of the room to a higher level.

And I am that amaryllis.

And so are you.

Let me explain.

About two decades ago, a neighbour gave us an amaryllis bulb in a cardboard package. “Water is all that is needed!” the box guaranteed. Beauty was promised to erupt from within this dry soil and ordinary pot.

I was excited about this, but I forgot about the plant in its little cardboard box in the rush of moving to another city. I felt guilty when I noticed it again a couple of years later. It was strewn between other forgotten items in our garage.

I gave it a few drops of water half-heartedly, looking at my watch as I waited for it to sprout life.

Then I got distracted.

“Well, I gave that a try, at least,” I thought, many years later when I saw the pot, out of its box now at least, but perched precariously on some items that needed sorting in the bowels of our garage. At least my guilt at not having TRIED to bring it to life was dissipated. “But I should give it another try,” I thought on my lunch break one day years later.

But when lunch was over, to-do items kept me running in circles. Days stretched to weeks and months. Another decade passed.

Our kids outgrew even more clothes, and I returned their small clothing items to the garage to deal with later.

“Remember me?” the amaryllis seemed to ask that year as I dumped a pile of too-small clothes on the floor beside it.

“We sometimes have to admit defeat,” I thought to myself, my advancing years having created a deep wisdom, called complacency, within. My few strands of grey hair had made me more rational and truthful. I didn’t look up from the floor as I spoke to myself.

My gaze had become limited.

I moved the plant to where we put things going to the dump.

At the prayer meeting that week, we were reminded to ask God to bring to life the seeds He had planted in us long ago. The ones He spoke in the whispers of the early morning hours or through the words of a friend – the ones we can’t quite find faith to believe.

And we were reminded to pour out our disappointments and frustrations to God. And to beg Him to make life sprout from the barren soils of our hearts.

And then I added a drop of water, two, on a whim that day to the amaryllis that was placed en route to the garbage dump.

Maybe?

And life sprouted.

And buds came in the form of hope.

And my soul was watered every time I watered that plant because hope was sprouting in me, too.

When the forgotten bulb in the little brown pot that hadn’t flowered in 20 years burst forth in all its fullness this Easter, I gazed at it in wonder.

And I don’t give up on you, either, Jesus whispered.

Because I know what the soil of your heart is capable of if you let Me pour some water on the seeds I have planted in your life.

Are you ready yet, dear child, to dare to hope in the impossible?

Friend, are you?

God can do anything, you know—far more than you could ever imagine or guess or request in your wildest dreams!

The Message

What impossible seed has He planted that you have forgotten about or nearly given up on? Does He want to plant an impossible seed in you today? Can you squeeze a few drops of Easter hope from dry soil to water this seed?

Consider asking for the strength to ponder this question, clean ears to hear His love, a heart to trust His goodness, and hope from the water of His Spirit.

And may your life blossom in great fullness against all expectations too, friend.

To God be the glory!

(Happy Easter.)