Last Christmas, a secret elf left me a beautiful, blooming Christmas amaryllis. (Who are you, you lovely rascal?) I enjoyed every day of its blooms, and brought it home. I do not have a green thumb. (Those who know me say this an understatement, and I am the harbinger of death to plant life, which is uncharitable though perhaps completely true.) But I read up on the plant, and took care of it with visions of a lush plant through the spring, hiding it away in the fall as you are supposed to do, so I could see blooms at Christmas 2021.
And then the leaves started drooping. And yellowing. And falling. I read more … oops. I had overwatered it. By a lot. A couple of weeks later, and there was nothing left except the brown bit of plant left after I cut away the dead leaves.
I sighed and was disappointed. I decided to just ignore it for a while, in the hopes that it would dry completely out, and then I could dig up the bulb, and try again with it in November. I wasn’t too optimistic though, even about that.
One evening this week, as I was puttering around my houseplants I haven’t killed (yet), I nearly jumped. Amaryllis was back! One long leaf coming up, and a day later, another leaf joined it. Lush and green, and apparently harboring me no ill will. I feel forgiven.
It is another sign for me of hope. Encouragement. Things are scary right now, and I have days where I feel less hope than the day before. Isn’t it funny, that just two green leaves can lift my heart so much?
Life goes on, and when we least expect it, something good pops up. Every one of us has survived everything life has thrown at us. Even poor plants doomed to live with well-intentioned but overwatering harbingers of death. We will continue to grow, and to bloom.