St. Francis of Glenwood

I was about ready to dig up the Honeysuckle vine and transplant it someplace else. Ever since planting it in the late spring, it’s just been there. No new leaves. No hint of a flower. No nothing. It was clearly telling me—which plants are wont to do if we pay attention—that it wasn’t happy there. It couldn’t thrive there. What it needed to grow wasn’t there. But then St. Francis showed up. He was a gift from someone I love, delivered by another someone I love. Carrying him over to the garden we settled him in. It wasn’t hard. He quietly made it clear where he wanted to be. And wouldn’t you know it, he wanted to be just in front of the Honeysuckle vine. Placing my hand on his bent head, I thanked him for showing up, and decided then and there not to dig up the vine. To give it some time in the shadow of St. Francis, a human who loved God and saw God in all of creation, and see what might happen. What happened is that it grew. It thrived. It bloomed. That’s what living in the shadow of love can do.