When I saw it there, a cream colored snowball size object, I was careful to drive around. 

I paused and then stopped, opened the door and walked back behind the car to see. 

A magnolia bloom, petals curved in towards themselves as if to comfort.

This feeling we know, the striving for awhile then close to falling apart, pulling knees up to chest and then lying still, waiting to pick ourselves up again. 

To be picked up, cradled, and redeemed. 
No one around to see me that morning, the oddity of me caring for the fallen bloom and the way I found happiness in deciding to place it on my desk. 

It wasn’t my concern, the connection some find strange, the one with sky and feather or flower. 

I cupped it in my hand and it unfolded gently and began to fall apart in my lap. 


The tiny matchstick-like stamens scattered out on my car seat and I collected them gently, so many and so fragile, I thought. 

I let them rest inside the hollow place in the center of the flower, the place where growth had begun before.

Where the bloom had been made to grow big and glorious. 

Only to have fallen from up high in strong and ancient tree onto the hard gravel path. 

Then the storm came and morning left it face down and alone. 

To be found by me.

I thought about faith and transgressions and falling because of failure.

If I’m honest, because of falter. 

The broken bloom in white bowl on my desk all day, a testament to being broken and still beautiful. 

The creamy white petal tips now tinged even more rusty apart from the tree.

The cone of flower holding fast to its center, knowing it wasn’t time yet for flower’s fading, too soon to have fallen away from grace. 

Beauty in the fallen and the fragile.

“If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me, and the light about me be night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is bright as the day, for darkness is as light with you. For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well.”

‭‭Psalms‬ ‭139:11-14‬ ‭ESV‬‬

Grace, grace, that a fallen magnolia bloom intent because of God, might catch my eye and slow me down, turn my thoughts, remind my heart of beauty even in broken. 

Broken, yet, still beautiful. 

God is everywhere.  Don’t forget to notice. 

I got so very much off track this week that I forgot what I wanted to remember most, this beautiful prayer, perhaps prompting my thoughts and joy over the fallen flower. 

So, a little late linking up with Jennifer Dukes Lee here: 

http://jenniferdukeslee.com/memorial-day-six-ways-find-peace-hectic-world/

6 thoughts on “The Bloom on the Ground

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