Nativity Catholic Church
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Living Things Have Their Way
of Breaking Through The transition from vacation-mode back to real life-mode isn’t easy, despite every effort we make to keep the memories alive. There are, however, some folks (I’ve known a few) who get tired of the freedom they enjoy during an escape from their routines and who count down the days to their return with the enthusiasm of a child waiting Christmas Eve. As to those who have never learned the fine art of vacationing, all I can say is…poor souls! This is not my problem at all. In fact, as the years go by, I find it increasingly more difficult to get back into the swing of things. I look at returning from time off much the same way I do “power napping” (which I’ve never been able to master). In my ill-fated attempts to power nap, always with its promise of awakening refreshed and ready to take on the world, all I have concluded is this: the longer I nap, the more I want to keep it going. Fifteen minutes of sleeping bliss never leaves me re-invented; it simply just makes me want another fifteen…and then fifteen more…and so on. My vacation experiences produce the same effect. The more I enjoy my time away, the more of it I long for. Who knows what would happen if I ever traveled for a whole month—I might never return at all! Cruising through my vacation fantasy land, I often imagine how easy it would be to never work again—and then of course, that nasty little truth about “making a living to pay the bills” rears its impish head only to ruin the dream. My recent trip to Boston and Cape Ann has presented yet another post-vacation wrestling match. Not only have the beauty of cooler temps; rambling hills and ridiculously curvaceous roads; tight, old city streets and alleyways; houses that sit two stories in the front and four stories in the back, perched on wondrous precipices; and freshly-caught, thick slabs of halibut and haddock, not to mention the mutant-sized wriggling lobsters, all conspired to make this transition almost unbearable (since Central Florida contains absolutely none of the above mentioned joys), but the return to a geography depleted of trees has been one of the harshest realities to face (next comes the traffic on I-4, the problems, the routines, the expectations, and so on)! New England was alive with magnificent flowers and oh so many trees. Amazed by the breathtaking scenery, I can see why so many poets and writers from the northeast celebrate trees in their writing. Unfortunately, here in Central Florida, trees seem to be treated more as nuisances (they might fall on someone’s house in a storm), or worse yet, obstacles to “progress,” i.e. another strip mall, gated community, or “luxury” apartment complex. I experienced the beauty of trees of all kinds…rich green hues against the chiseled granite slopes and crystal blue skies—lush canopies that made music outside the windows of my cottage (which, by the way, were left open most of my stay) whenever the winds stirred and the sea-salted air rushed in from the nearby coves and harbor. The trees sang their rustling tunes as their branchy fingers took swipes against the window panes and bead-boarded exterior of the cottage. Alas, in our part of the world, the propensity to cement and asphalt the land where mighty canopies of trees once stood seems quite criminal, when compared to the majesty of trees running amok in New England. While pulling into the cramped parking lot of a tiny art gallery called “The Sacred Cod,” as I was once again breathing in the pungent palette of greens and blues and cotton whites, I happened to notice a large, towering plant jutting up from the edge of the asphalted area. Right there, smack dab in the midst of the blackened shroud that covered the three car spaces, was a glorious milkweed plant, flowering at the top, ready to welcome a soon-to-be-passing by squadron of butterflies. Despite every attempt to cover over any signs of life—life was not to be denied! Here, in this stately milkweed, I witnessed an amazing truth about life—there is a power in new life that’s strong enough to beat back every attempt at denying it a chance to thrive and blossom! Those tiny seeds, germinating for who knows how long beneath that potent shield, finally mustered enough power to push through, breaking apart the mighty asphalt with its slender, yet stately stem. You and I would need a hammer and chisel and a good amount of sweat-equity to make so much as a dent in the parking lot surface, but here, this gracious plant, needed no tools other than those which are in its very nature as a plant—to reach up, to push out, to find its way to the sun, and to grow and blossom so that it might fulfill its purpose. Nothing would stand in its noble way. And the butterflies are grateful for that (as is the shop keeper, who gets to enjoy their daily visits during the summer months, as she paints canvases of beauty from the other side of the storefront window). I’m not sure why this should have come as a surprise to me, this living thing breaking through all attempts to deny it abundance. After all, am I not part of a great multitude that claims belief in a Savior whom God raised from the dead, blowing open the mammoth seal rolled over the grave’s entrance? For God, life is never to be denied—no matter its form or the degree of usefulness we choose to render it! What we so often want to bury, to cover over with asphalt or cement…or with fear, bigotry, hatred, disinterest, jealousy, neglect, denial, convenience, or a host of other “sealants”…always seems to find a way to break through with a mighty force. Most often, we think we’ve done the deed, rid ourselves of the nuisances or obstacles. And then, imperceptibly at first, surely intending to catch us by surprise, what was buried springs back, bursts forth, and will not be denied. We may be amazed by its “sudden” appearance, and shocked to learn that its secret powers have surpassed all our efforts to keep it away. But truth be told, living things usually have a way of breaking through—and therein lays a potent hope for us all.
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