I love spring in the mountains. Especially since my usual habitat is the seasonless flatland of Florida where the only hills we have are speedhumps.
On our annual springtime traipse to our remote Smoky Mt cabin this year, I noticed something new. After the last big freeze (we often dip below 32 degrees in April at our high altitude), little green nubs began poking their way through the soil of the flowerbed. Now, I’m used to the daffodils, lilies and hostas that make their annual appearances about this time every year – and I always celebrate and cherish them.
But these leaf nubs were different. They were an unusual shade of brilliant green, and they were smoothly fluted.
What could they be?
I watched with interest as the nubs grew into stems, which then budded and finally blossomed. Crazy-beautiful, bright, colorful blooms that had never before graced my humble little flowerbed. 
Tulips. They were tulips.
But where had they come from?
Twas a mystery. Until I suddenly remembered that last Easter, I’d given my mother, daughter, sister and several besties lovely decorative pots of tulips that I simply could not resist when I passed them at Publix. I’ve always thought tulips were happy flowers and as a child I admired their lavish spring beauty at my granny’s house in north Georgia. Although I know tulips won’t grow in central Florida and it’s essentially flushing good money around the bowl and down the hole to gift something that will only live for a week, they were just too gorgeous to pass up.
So the sweet blossoms brought beauty and encouragement and joy to my loved ones for a few days. Then they bowed their little heads. And died.
Soon nothing was visible where there had once been vibrant life but dirt in an empty pot. Those flowers were spent. Used up. Expendable. Now worthless.
But then a thought hit me. The loveliness of the flowers was gone, yes, but their essence – the vital creative spark responsible for their previous glory – was still there, encapsulated within the bulb submerged beneath the soil. But there their hidden potential would stay imprisoned and eventually rot if kept in a place contrary to what they needed to survive.
Bulbs are like that. They’re invisible to the world. But pretty dang powerful if given the right conditions.
Wait. I was soon heading up to fertile Smoky Mt soil that might nurture them back to usefulness. Maybe. I’d never seen many tulips at that high an elevation, but who knows?
So I’d gathered all the bald, ugly, lifeless-appearing little bulbs and brought them up to the cabin, where I’d troweled them into the hard ground on a whim. And then never gave them another thought.
Until now. 
And gazing at the unexpected beauty popping up all around, yet another thought hits me. Only this one feels like a personal message implanted in my heart from Papa God.
Just look at what can happen when you give hidden potential a chance. It’s called redemption. And it works the same way for people too. People who feel like they’re spent. Used up. Expendable. Now worthless.
People whose hearts just need to be transplanted to a nurturing environment where I can work with their submerged abilities to recreate something lovely. Something useful. Something amazing.
Okay, message received, Lord.
Yep. I’m feeling kinda bulbous right now. And perky too. Even hopeful. Like maybe spring is really just beginning even though it’s a smidge late.
How about you, dearest BFF (Blessed Friend Forever)? Shall we dormant bulbs burst into bloom together? I’d love to hear from you!
So beautiful and love the thoughts on potential!
Deb,
You have been and continue to be God’s voice in my life. I am eternally grateful to have found you and your stories about how to have a relationship with Papa God. On more than one occasion, your words and actions have been balm to my soul. I am living proof that your prayer to reach at least the “one” person has been answered. This story about redemption found in my favorite flower is a reminder that Papa is not finished with me yet. He is just allowing me to bloom in His time!
THANK YOU!!
Your BFF,
Lisa
Tulips were my mother’s favorite flower, too. So glad you help them be transplanted into new life! Thanks for sharing.
I love this article. Much truth spoken. We could all learn to trust Papa God.
Such beautiful tulips, how awesome is our God’s creations.
Such excitement when I see my beautiful amaryllis and other flowers start blooming.
What an awesome God we serve!!
One of our summer residents has a special curve in the road on the way up to our neighborhood. She says she feels like she is home when she gets to that point. Since she left last October, I have sent her pictures of her “special curve” so she could see what it is like in the winter and now as it begins to “green up.” As I rounded that curve just a little while ago, I saw that it was a luscious green with the trees way up the mountain beginning to turn green here and there. The black cows grazing on the new green grass made a spectacular picture. I thought, “I have to take a picture for my friend soon.” She will love it!
I know she absolutely would, Frances! Years ago, my neighbor down the mt would kindly do the same for me; we couldn’t come up until late April each year because of the kids’ activities in baseball and gymnastics so I missed all the nuances of spring. My thoughtful neighbor sent me photos of sweet flowers and trees budding in my yard and it surely made my heart happy. I was sad when she moved, but happily, the kids grew up and Spouse and I had more freedom to come up earlier and eye-witness the miracle of new life first hand.
You’re very kind to think of your neighbor!
Deb,
Thanks for the uplifting message and the pictures of the beautiful flowers. May God Bless you!
Marsha
Why thank you, Marsha – I’m pausing right now to pray Papa God’s special blessings on you today too!
I love tulips too and never thought about how much like bulbs we are. Thanks for the insight.
Becki, my body shape even resembles a tulip bulb! Ha! Hugs to you, dear BFF!
Dear Deb, I just finished your book “Too loved to be lost”, and it was just what I needed at this time in my life, spiritually more like winter, than spring…My prodigal daughter who lives with us (What happens when your prodigal doesn’t leave?)and I Had a fight yesterday and I literally kicked her in the butt. Not once, but twice. She is 36 years old. She used to love God, but now says she is a lesbian and does not believe in God. Her name is Erin. Your last few chapters in your book talk about loving others when they are unlovable even if we don’t necessarily like them. Just keep us in your prayers….and I will be trying to make up what I tore down yesterday.??
Oh Lynn, my heart goes out to you in your struggles with your grown daughter who has strayed from her faith. It’s so, so hard to be a stump mother, isn’t it? (Referenced in my book.) I promise to pray for you – and for her – as you grapple with loving someone who is temporarily unlikeable. Hang tough, my friend, and hang onto hope.