Long-awaited blossoms/blessings

Growing up, one of the earliest things I remember about Mother’s flowers was the hoya carnosa vine. To most of you, that will be a completely foreign term, one that sounds slightly threatening. But it was one of the “solids” in my youth.

Every once in a while, bunches of flowers appeared, looking much like a down-shooting fireworks display. The flowers are amazing, having faintly pink velvety petals, waxy little red stars in the middle with (as I recall) another white star in the middle of that, and a fragrance that fills the room. [NOTE: This description was written before the flowers on my vine opened.]

When I moved away, I tried several times to take a cutting of the vine. I remember that one attempt failed when the hot summer sun scorched the leaves of the poor little plant sitting in the back of the car as we drove across the country.

This last cutting survived, but barely. Our home doesn’t have a lot of window sill space, so it struggled along with only a few leaves. Once the children got old enough that I could put a plant on a low window sill, it put out some new growth.

When my husband renovated a corner of the basement for my office, he blessed me with a deep sill for the window right in front of my computer. So I brought my plant down and put it there, right where I can see it every day.

My mother’s plants (hers has multiplied also) continued to flourish and bloom. The cuttings my siblings had started did the same, producing blossoms so consistently that they didn’t even bother to mention it in family e-mails.

Meanwhile, it was enough of a subconscious concern to me that I had dreams about my plant’s blooming. One dream in particular said that there were two sets of flowers.

Although my vine was surviving and sending out runners every spring, there was still nothing resembling a flower. In consultation with the other family experts, the diagnosis was a probable lack of light. Indeed, this window has a northwest exposure, which is not ideal. However, it does get a little dose of sun from the east early in the morning.

Then last year something unusual appeared on one of the vines. I thought it looked a lot like the stalk from which the blossoms grow. Although I watched it very closely, nothing more happened last year.

This past spring, another stalk appeared on this year’s vine. But it was even smaller than last year’s. Still, a few weeks ago the little bud stems started to grow on last year's, and then on this year's. You can imagine my excitement at that development.

But you can possibly also imagine my surprise when another stalk appeared on a vine end that I assumed was dead. That stalk developed almost overnight and almost immediately started sending out the bud stems.

This morning, as I survey the progress, I see that the last group of blooms is very close to opening. Right behind it is the group on last year’s stalk. And still moving along but way behind is the stalk that appeared earlier this spring.

As I thought about this situation this morning, before beginning another day of steady work, I thought that my plant might be trying to teach me some lessons. The first is that the deadest looking wood may still be viable. The second is that seniority may have nothing to do with maturity. And the third is that dreams do indeed come true, if we have patience and hold out hope long enough.

So whatever long-held dreams are fueling your progress through life, grasp them tightly. If they are worthy of Heavenly Father’s sanction, they will come about someday. I have an undying assurance of that, which I would like to share with you.