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Being on a three-month renewal leave affords me more time to work in my garden, which I love and enjoy. There’s also a long list of garden-related tasks desperately needing my attention – planting, potting, pruning, etc.

But, it’s SO dang hot. My energy rapidly depletes before many intended tasks are completed. And my knees hurt. And my feet hurt. And my back hurts. So, each day I do what I can, stopping when I can’t do any more.

Yesterday, I started early and ended early. I hadn’t slept well the previous night – probably hurting from the prior day’s labors – so I dragged from the start. After a short couple of hours, and little to show for my efforts, I was drenched in sweat, shuffling my feet, quickly losing interest and giving in to discouragement that I couldn’t accomplish more. (BTW – I’m still working on damage caused by a severe freeze last January, that devastated my bonsai and succulent collection, as well as my landscaping. There still remains many visible, painful reminders of my losses.)

Defeated, I collapsed on a chair in my garage to drink water, remove my dirty work shoes, catch my breath… and sulk.

Then I saw what I hadn’t noticed all morning. Beside my driveway are two magnolia trees, which are my favorite, and both are blooming.  I love magnolia blossoms and they have special, spiritual meaning for me.

For many years, I routinely visited a Trappist Monastery near Atlanta, Ga. The driveway leading from the road to the cloister is lined with old magnolia trees. And, as I often visited in May or June, the magnolias were usually in bloom.  Each day of my visits, I took multiple walks up and down that driveway, observing and enjoying the Magnolia blossom’s beauty and aroma.

A magnolia blossom begins with a tight, hard fist of a bud, as many flowers do. It’s difficult to peel a bud open, before it’s time, and doing so destroys it. Each pedal is tightly wrapped around the next. I noticed the first buds to open are the ones most exposed to the sun. Something about the sun’s light and heat loosen and open those pedals, revealing their beauty. The shaded buds open too, but later. One day I realized, “That’s why I’m here (at the monastery) – to sit in the light and blossom.”

In my mind, those tight, hard, shaded buds – slow to bloom – represented my heart. Though all buds eventually open, my heart seems to have a pattern of opening and closing, opening and closing. Stresses, worry, regret, hurt, anger, resentment, exhaustion, bitterness slowly callous my heart, forming a hard, tight protective shell.

Not to make excuses for my hard-heartedness, but the truth is, I’m sensitive guy. My heart is inclined to feel deeply, to love generously. It’s best and natural state is wide open. But, when it’s hurt it retreats, hides, and fortifies against further pain. This has been a cycle for most of my adult life, and probably before.

I recall Glennon Doyle saying highly sensitive people, which I likely am, experience life as “brutiful” – intensely brutal and beautiful. We experience brutality more deeply, more painfully. We also have the capacity to experience beauty at a deeper level, but must keep our hearts open to do so.

I’ve always related to the story of the Grinch, whose tiny heart was “two sizes to too small.” But, on Christmas morning, discovering the true meaning and spirit of Christmas, Grinch’s heart swelled “three sizes” larger than before.

So, yesterday, midway through my much-needed renewal leave, God sent me a reminder. Discouraged, deflated, dripping with sweat, I discovered magnolia blossoms blooming right in front of me… and I remembered.

I wish I could keep my heart permanently open. I’m certainly aware of it’s tendencies to hide and shrink and I try to care for it better than I used to. Perhaps I’m exaggerating the degree of it’s shrinkage and hardness – but only to a degree.

Nevertheless, I am thankful for yesterday’s blooming reminder and look forward to watching the magnolia blossoms unfurl over the coming weeks, hoping my heart is doing the same.