Rooted. Planted. Bloomed.

Abe’s always loved older movies. Chitty Chitty. Mary Poppins. Wizard of Oz. But one played the longest right when we moved. Wore it out. Something about the adventure rang true for us. And these two ships — theirs and ours — seemed to have crashed at similar ports. Here we were, stuck in some exotic jungle filled with lost treasures and lurking unknowns. Although I must say, Arkansan Family Harrison didn’t quite have the same ring to it.

It was one of those sleepy summer afternoons early on— twins napping, Amy hanging pictures on the walls — Abe and I catching Swiss Family Robinson on the couch. Again. 7th time in 4 days. But this time, something different. Something new. Something I hadn’t seen or heard before.

Right off the big screen, this little conversation hung in our living room air:

Fritz? Fritz?

Hmm?

Do you imagine we’ve changed a lot since we first landed here?

In what way?

Well, in lots of ways— like getting stronger, more sure of ourselves, things like that.

I suppose so.

Remember the first time we came here? Everything scared us— all those strange noises.

Heh. how could I forget?

We must have been pretty helpless.

That I’d have to agree with.

I pulled out the laptop. Rewinded the movie a couple times. And court stenographer-ed the testimony of these boys.

“Dad, why do you keep making the movie go backwards?”

“Because I gotta hear this. One day their words will be ours.”

That was in September. Our first month of the move. And at the time, “everything scared us”. Maybe not the strange noises, but certainly the strangeness of it all. And it wasn’t just the newness yet to be experienced, it was also the old we’d left behind. The force of that gravity was not only strong enough to keep our feet planted, it also had the effect, at times, of seemingly planting us beneath the surface of the earth.

And perhaps, that’s exactly what was happening:

this little seed was being buried.

Happiness and hope. Fear and failure. Longing and loss. Belief and boldness. This little seed was buried. And we were gonna have to let it grow.

Right then and there, all the way back in September, in the midst of all that we felt and all we didn’t even know to feel. We just dutifully laid it down. Dropped our hold. And trusted the Good Gardender could plant something beautiful out of our tiny, little, scared seed.

May is beckoning. Five days away. Eight months since the move. Two-thirds of a year on the West Coast.

As the sun shines bright today — as ghostly grey clouds part and ocean blue skies stretch far and wide — as Spring awakens in bugs and birds and blooms— as this lazy Sunday sits quiet and content like a happy old couple on a picnic at the park — as new life emerges — we may now say words — Swiss Family Words — that once, not too long ago, felt far too far away for the Harrison Family:

Do you imagine we’ve changed a lot since we first landed here?

In what way?

Well, in lots of ways — like getting stronger, more sure of ourselves, things like that.

Fritz, yes I do. I imagine we have changed. A lot. Strength and certitude for sure. But also. More than that. I think we’ve learned something else:

Trust. For the gardener is good. And the seed is bearing fruit.

When all that seems most impossible for you, when the cost the adventure casts appears greater than the reward it could possibly reap, remember this:

I wrote down the words from that sweet, silly movie seven months ago. September of 2014. They sat in my computer through Thanksgiving. Christmas. New Years. Abe’s Birthday. Valentine’s Day. And St. Patrick’s. The end of one Daylight Saving Time. The beginning of another.

All the time, the words just sitting there. Not ready. Strength and certitude just out of reach. But all the time, even as the words just waited, I still knew the words would one day come. At some point. Even if they weren’t there then. I knew the words would be true. One day.

Trust.

The gardener is good. The seed will bear fruit.