How To Fill The Empty Spaces

It's only a plant, I told myself. But it reminded me of her and it was part of her and now it's just plain gone! I missed the tiny purple buds, the smell, the aroma that triggered memory. Like a copper-winged butterfly, scenes would flit across mind, lifting the corners of my mouth into a smiley face. A scent so sweet and pungent, painting a picture without words, triggering a flash of past with one fragrant inhale. The lavender start I brought back from my mother's farm many, many years ago flourished, weathered harsh winters, blistery summers, and at times suffered sheer neglect. This July, I happened upon an empty space in my backyard. "What's that stump there?" My sister inquired, scanning the exact spot which now contained a mere grayish stump, the remains of my lavender bush. I clamped my mouth shut, swallowed words I wanted to say because I knew that wooden-looking thing was simply left-over remnant of my mother's lavender. My husband did not admit to pruning the shrub, declaring complete innocence and my heart plummeted to ground, heavy, thudding. The plant had proved faithful through all these years, and our last mild winter caused inner suspicions to rise like tsunami yet I kept pointing finger folded inside fist. Weeks passed, summer unfolded and so did fist. John Keats wrote: "The poetry of the earth is never dead." My mother loved the earth and maybe that is why I cared so much for her plant. This year for my birthday, my daughter presented me with a special gift. Gazing upon the offering, a keener understanding welled within, stroking the loss much like a mother's tender kiss on unblemished skin. The special knowing between mother's and daughter's, unspoken words, silent understanding, hearts scrap-booking past and present. Corrie ten Boom penned: "We have been planted according to a divine pattern, even if we do not always understand that pattern. God is interested in each of us 'microscopically' as well as 'telescopically.' The hairs of our heads have been counted, but the universe is also in his hand." "Did you see what it says?" Daughter asked, her tone eager, expectant. Stepping to get a closer look, I read the inscription.

Seven letters etched in black, slightly faint, message clear, translucent. God's poetry filling the empty space. All things are possible if you Believe.