How odd, I thought to myself, one lone flower, so far from where I thought it belonged.
And then I heard something that stopped me in my tracks.
Bloom where you're planted, whispered the still small voice of God.
What? I asked. Bloom? Here? In a place of sorrow and pain? In a community that no one wants to be in, because the only way to gain membership is to lose a child?
The answer? Bloom where you're planted.
The flower was not where I thought it belonged. It was not where I would have looked if was to go searching for a purple daisy. I am not where I thought I belonged; I'm not where I would have looked if I was looking for somewhere to bloom. I argued with God for the next little while.
How can I possibly bloom here? I don't want to bloom here, I want to be somewhere else, somewhere that isn't a result of my daughter's death.
God's gentle reply was becoming familiar, bloom where you're planted.
So I guess that's what I'll do. I have my bad days, the days when I want to yell and scream at others, at myself, at the world. Days when I sit down to write and all that comes out are words of confusion and hurt; those are the posts that get labelled as "drafts", to be shared on a later day when I'm not feeling so vulnerable or afraid to be honest. The bad days are when the closest I get to blooming is being "blooming angry" that my daughter isn't here and the world has moved on. As the nine month anniversary approaches, those days are becoming more frequent. And it was on one of those days when I heard God's voice: bloom where you're planted.
So Deeper Still is me trying to bloom where I'm planted. Writing on Still Standing is me trying to bloom where I'm planted. Even simply getting out of bed each day is me trying to bloom where I'm planted.
This is not how it should be
This is not how it could be
This is how it is
And our God is in control
-Steven Curtis Chapman-