When Maple Seeds Bloom

As a child I can still remember when the maple seeds would fall to the ground. Helicopters – that’s what we often called them. It was the simplest of joys to gather these seeds by the handful, tossing them back into the sky as high as I could, to watch them twirl over and over again to the grass below.

Oh what I would do to be able to slip back into that childhood dream. A world of innocence. A world with far less responsibility. A world where a mere twirling seed was the greatest wonder that could steal all of my focus in an instant.

But we grow up. We learn hard and dark things about the world. We gain more responsibility, some we choose and some we don’t. Soon, we rush passed the twirling seeds of wonder…sometimes forgetting the process that both self and seed take to become what we truly are.

A few years ago, I was helping a friend clean up some backyard brush. I remember there being so many of those little helicopters surrounding us, and for a moment I was whisked back into my childhood wonder. Tossing. Twirling. Simple joy. But a brief moment because, after all, there was work to do.

A few weeks later, I returned to help her, when something caught my eye. There in her fire pit, I noticed a bit of green. Growth. But not just any type of growth. Not just grass or weeds. It was a type of green I knew deeply from my NEK roots. A maple leaf. As I gently lifted it from the fire pit, I found myself in another moment of wonder. Because attached to the root of this infant tree was ash.

Life where a seed had twirled to the ash below. Beauty from literal ashes. This encounter with my Creator’s sweet intentionality came 5 years ago during what was a really tiring season. There have been many different types of seasons since then, and while social media has some significant pitfalls, I am thankful for the timely reminder of this post, in which I wrote the following:

I may not be fully aware of the blessings that are floating down and rooting themselves in my life on a day to day basis…because some days the struggles really do have a heavier weight on my focus, but in time, I trust that God is going to keep surprising me with goodness out of the ashes, as I continue to pursue Him.

5 years ago, I never would have dreamed that I would be where I am. 5 years ago, I never would have considered that I would be doing what I’m doing. Heck, 5 years ago we hadn’t even really experienced Covid yet. But it along with other moments mixed with both good soil and ash were right around the corner.

5 years later, I realize that God has been consistently in the business of allowing so many blessings to float down and root themselves in my life. People. Opportunities. Places. Experiences. Admittedly, I’ve rushed passed many of them. The last 5 years have been part of a CRAZY ride, but being reminded of this maple tree sprout was also such a fitting reminder for the end of June.

My crazy ride that has been a decade of ministry rolling right into my first year of teaching came to a screeching halt at the beginning of June. For the first time, really since sometime in high school, I found myself with a full summer off. And while that thought may excite a lot of people, the moment I stepped back into my apartment to begin my time off, I felt more anxious than anything.

Anxious because even though I am an introvert, I’m used to being around people most days and having maybe a day to myself here and there to recharge.

Anxious because I’ve walked through series of days where I’ve experienced how too much alone time can enable my mind to spiral down the path of loneliness toward hopelessness.

Anxious because for decades, part of my purpose and my identity had admittedly been tied to pouring my heart and soul into kids that God had entrusted to me.

And suddenly it felt like everything had shifted.

But despite the weight that anxiety was trying to pile on, Jesus reached in with another root from the ashes, reminding me to not look at the whole month. Take it a few days at a time. Accept invitations…and even compelling me to make a few invitations (not my strength). But beyond just being with people, so much of this month was wrestling with that last part.

I needed to discover who I am. Not the children’s minister. Not the teacher. Not even the coffee addict or any other label. But really just figuring out who Jesus has made me to be for this season, and how I can live in the fullness of who He has made me to be. It meant being willing to slow down, pause, and live in the wonder again.

Still June wasn’t easy. There were some pretty hard things. But when it would have been so easy to let my focus be weighed down by circumstances and emotions, it was a gift to look friends in the eye or send messages that simply conveyed, “I’m tired…” or “I’m sad…” but to end those phrases with “but my soul is good.”

I was able to say that because in this pause I was able to see some of the seeds of blessing that God has allowed to twirl down and take root in the soil of my soul. Most recently…the grandeur of His creation tucked away in the Smoky Mountains. Movement through sunset walks. The serene power of uninterrupted conversations with Him, saturated in worship. Soul-knitting conversations with fellow believers. Laughter…so much laughter. And yes, discovering the immense joy and energy that comes from being with kids when I’m truly rooting my efforts in Him rather than myself.

But there are far more seeds than those. There are seeds I’ve reflected on that have fallen 5, 10, and 20 years ago still impacting my life. Seeds that though their outer shell may no longer be visible, have sprouted and blossomed and have become a forest boasting the beautiful array of vibrant colors that has been my life’s process. That’s a humbling and beautiful reality to journey through. It’s one that beckons me to return time and time again, certain to discover something I’ve long forgotten that has grown into the moment of a present blossom.

And so the calendar prepares to turn to July. Half of this summer still remains and this second half will be vastly different than the first half, in part because it’s been loosely planned for months. But it will be just as full of amazing people, opportunities, places (including some time in my maple tree NEK homeland), and experiences, and I’m willing to bet a lot more time to see the evidence of more deeply rooted seeds.

I’m thankful. Because at least for here and now, this all feels like a moment of tossing helicopters back up into the sky, watching them twirl back to the ground. But instead of an act of childish play, they are tossed with intentional praise and awe of the One who is in the business of doing above and beyond whatever we can ask or think.

And so to those who have read this, my encouragement to you is simple. Whether you feel like you’re emerging out of ashes or embarking on some ordinary path of life, don’t forget to pause. Don’t forget to take notice. Don’t forget to pursue Jesus. Because you never know when you may be surprised by the goodness that is seen when maple seeds bloom.