The other evening I went to a friend's house for marriage group. The sun had long since slipped below the horizon, and the scene outside their
picture window was black.
"I wish you could see the Sugar Maple. It is spectacular this year."
They invited me to come back in the daylight, and I
stopped by between errands. It was bright enough to rival gummi bears. They told the story about planting it eighteen years ago, for the very purpose of us sitting there to enjoy it.
The tea was warm and they were in the mood to remember so I heard about their first home in the Berkshires, and the landscape of colorful maples that surrounded their farmhouse. They
wanted to have that beauty in their own backyard, so one day near the climax of the last century they dug a hole and plunked in a sapling. Then they waited.
Eighteen years is a long time to anticipate. I tend to buy flowers that are currently blooming, and toss them in the compost when they turn brown. But this couple invested in their future in a way that showed
they planned on sticking around. A group of friends gifted me with two dogwoods a couple of years back and I hope to see a cloud of petals this April. I guess I could wait a decade but I don't want to.
Over the years this couple has taken in and cared for aging relatives whose health declined faster than they could keep up with alone. They made room in their
home, or visited them in their small apartment every day to check on meds, and bring a bowl of soup. They expected no reward for this faithfulness, even though it went on longer than the wait for orange leaves.
Looking out their window, soaking up the bright beauty of their efforts back when I still lived in California and could barely keep houseplants alive, calmed me.
How could it be that something they did long before our friendship had taken root would bless me?
Marriage is a way to serve people you have not met yet. I pray that the efforts you make today will one day be as bright as a Sugar Maple.
