I bought a two-dollar poinsettia at Walmart the day after Christmas. The first day of spring passed, and the plant still bloomed its heart out. Daffodils and tulips had peaked, and redbuds and dogwoods were abloom. Stores sported Easter baskets, bunnies, and bonnets. Well, okay, so maybe not bonnets.
The plant said “never mind” to all the spring hoopla, insisting on touting Christmas. Tiny, reddish-green leaves appeared frequently—leaves that turned scarlet as they matured. In fact, spring brought on a growth spurt.
I followed no instructions to keep this thing alive. I set it on a sunny counter and doused it with water every five days—if I remembered. Whenever I threw away a dead leaf, the plant hurried to replace it with two.
Thriving, this Christmas symbol showed no respect for our calendar. It did not recognize that it had been three months since the Christmas spirit of we homo sapiens had wilted, and that we were headed toward spring fever, even dreaming of summer.
Almost daily, I thought, “I really should throw that thing in the trash. It looks silly.” But I love all botanical things that demonstrate a love for life (except weeds), so it stayed. Perhaps my stubborn poinsettia was meant to be a reminder.
Our Savior left a spotless paradise for a dirty stable. The cross shadowed His cradle before the sun shone on His empty tomb. All this combines as God’s redemptive plan.
I finally determined to do all I could to keep my poinsettia alive until Easter. Then, on that special Sunday, I would trash it. But only after I contemplated that those scarlet leaves represented drops of blood my Savior shed for me. I planned to pause to remember the scourges, the thorns, the nails, and the sword. They all drew blood. Blood drops were sown in soil that produced Easter lilies.
I planned to set my Easter plant on the counter beside the Christmas plant and to gaze at both: the vivid crimson beside the pure white. Grateful that both remind me of the amazing story that offers victory and eternal life.
Then, before eating the Easter ham—to avoid being called a crazy lady—I would toss that spunky poinsettia into the garbage can. It will have served its purpose exceptionally well. And that's what I did.
Join me in expressing thanks for the wonderful truths the poinsettia and lily represent.
A Wisconsin native, Lauri Lemke Thompson lives in the lovely Ozark Mountains in Branson, Missouri. She is active in Christian Women’s Connection (Stonecroft) and the Ozarks Chapter of the American Christian Writers. Her two books, Hitting Pause and Pressing Forward, are collections of her columns, articles, and devotions. Her bimonthly column appears in the Branson Globe newspaper.