The old adage that April showers bring May flowers fills our minds with the preconceived notion that the only time of year to see color is in the spring.  I strongly disagree. 

It has already started.  A vast array—splashes of bright pigment that enhances the sight of every direction you turn—I’ve often supposed more flowers by number are fall-bloomers.  Just take a walk and you will see wildflowers popping out of everywhere.  Roadsides, hillsides, grasslands, parks, they might be smaller in size than springtime counterparts, but are they any less uplifting to the spirit? 

Yellow toadflax tends to prefer gravel spots right off roadsides.  It sends out bright blooms to brighten our days.  It usually doesn’t produce a bloom until the school bus starts coming around, possibly mimicking bus color in a fitting season.

A favorite of mine—I call it spotted snapweed but some call it spotted touch-me-not—has also come to town.  You can find it in woodland clearings, roadsides, lakesides, pretty much anyplace undisturbed.  Yellow, orange, or red flowers lead to my favorite part: a seed pod that when touched launches seeds like a spring-loaded cannon.  They are fun, exciting, and put a smile on your face.  They are quite an amazing intricacy to God’s creation.

I love tall iron weed.  Regal.  Splendid.  It stands tall to attention with dignity and poise.  Growing as tall as you or I or better, it is topped off with a purple so deep and bright it makes the eye wonder: how can such a color exist?

And who could forget the asters?  When they bloom, they invade the land like an army, producing white, pink, and purple splashes of color everywhere permitted.  It seems as though their mission is to conquer the land one last time with flower petals before winter comes.  I feel they succeed.

But one flower strikes me in a different way.  Chicory—found along any roadside that isn’t mowed very often—seems to always wear a melancholy face.  Its pale blue voice seems to sing a unique song, a melody that carols: “Summer’s fading, don’t you know.”  Chicory shows up exactly at that time—when summer is fading.  When the days are getting shorter, and things are winding down.  Of any of the wildflowers, its appearance seems to be more of a marker or messenger of sorts.  Sad.  Blue.  A sonnet of woe.

Not all the flowers sing praise, I suppose.

This leads me to a very simple premise.  Can the mourning flower have a beauty too?

We walk the journey of life bumping into many people along the way.  One type seems to always be a step ahead of the game.  They are the bright flowers that cannot wait to flag their colors to the world and shout their joy.  And rightly so; this is how life should be.  To them, life is bold and happy, like a bright yellow flower.

Then there are those who live with passion.  Life is exciting, the world is their oyster, and they cannot live it quick enough.  I know many people like this.  Just like the touch-me-nots, they are spring loaded, ready to bring joy and wonder to the eyes of those that come their way. 

And there are those reserved.  Like the tall ironweed.  Standing to attention with dignity and honor.  Holding themselves in splendid reservation.  With a different personality, they are secure in themselves.  Healthy.  Not boastful of their sure footing, they wait until others come to them. Then they show a deep color the world didn’t know existed.  A priceless value.

But there are the the others.  And you can already identify.  You are not feeling so happy, energetic, joyful, or sure.  For your world has been broken.  And all the colors have faded to blue.  Loss has changed everything.  Your whole world.  And you don’t know how to be valuable, precious, or beautiful anymore.

This morning I took my camera to snap some pictures of chicory where I live.  I looked a while and found some.  When I first found it, some still had wet petals.  Crying with the morning dew, they were not yet ready for the world.  Then the sun warmed them.  Dried them.  Bathed them in comfort.  Dried their tears.  And as I focused my camera, I found them to be rather . . .

beautiful. 

If you are in a season of grief or loss, we both know the pain is real.  There is no sense in trying to be a different kind of flower right now.  You’ll never pretend to be a sunflower in a season of life where all you see is blue.  Seasons must be lived.  This season must be owned.

But as I know from personal experience and was reminded of this morning, even the mourning flower—wet with tears—receives a gentle comfort from the light.  And isn’t this what God does when we allow Him the time and space to bathe us in His warmth and comfort?  I know He has for me.  I’ve been there.  Many times.  You see, God doesn’t try to change us into another flower.  Not yet, anyway.  Instead, He dries our tears and shines His love upon us.  He gives us strength and power, and with His light, enables us to grow.  We receive the hope and courage to take the next breath, the next step, and then say “I can make it through to tomorrow.”

Lamentations 3:21-23

But this I call to mind,

and therefore I have hope:

The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases;

his mercies never come to an end;

they are new every morning;

great is your faithfulness.

If you are someone struggling with making sense of grief and loss, perhaps the message of the blue chicory flower was meant for you.  Know that what I witnessed this morning is available for you.  God is faithful.  Always.  Just like sunshine drying the morning dew, He will be the greatest source of comfort you will ever experience.  My challenge to you is to give Him this chance.

After all, look how beautiful that comforted flower can be.

By Chuck Carr