An After-Easter Story

I was pretty upset. This was a plant that, a day before, had been vibrant, probably full of hundreds of leaves and myriad vines. I know it is just a plant, but when you've had something for 30 years, and it as alive and growing, it is almost a part of your life. My father bought it for my very vacant dorm room when I began college because he thought the room needed a "homey touch."

The plant had gone through a previous "molt" or "almost-dead" time. But I worried that this time around it was especially ominous. A couple days earlier, my mom called and said Dad was in the hospital, he needed a pacemaker to keep going. I'm not superstitious, but the timing seemed a little unusual; a little like E.T.

The housekeeper for our building, Doris, who usually waters our plants, was equally bewildered and upset about my plant. She had not changed anything in its care. We debated: too much sun, not enough, too much heat, too much water? Finally, sadly, I started cutting all the dead leaves away. I removed everything but two small leaves that still appeared to be a little green. The other vines I cut back to stumps. They looked dead.

But you can guess the rest of the story: soon new leaves appeared, and then one day I noticed fresh green shoots out of the brown little stumps. It was exciting! Doris and I rejoiced together. The new shoots seemed to grow a quarter of an inch overnight.

In a way, it's more fun watching my plant now, because the leaves are more visible. The plant had been stripped of everything superfluous: now I can see shoots and leaves I never saw before. It has a new life, and it gives me hope.

I'm made to think of the legend of the phoenix. The phoenix was a bird, and it was said there could only ever by one phoenix in existence at any one time. In some stories, the phoenix lives 100, 500 or 1000 years. When it grows to advanced age and knows that death is near, the phoenix hides itself and builds a nest of aromatic wood and rare spices. The heat of the sun lights the fire and the phoenix fans flames with its wings until the bird itself is consumed by the flames. It burns, but out of the ashes arises a new life: a new phoenix bird, a beautiful symbol of hope and rebirth.

Then of course we have the example of every butterfly, which goes through a similar cycle. A lowly caterpillar lives out its existence, plodding along the earth. Then one day it spins a chrysalis. For all practical purposes, it dies. Then another fine day, it emerges from the chrysalis to become a gorgeous butterfly, freed from its humdrum, plodding, earthbound existence.

My mind also goes of course to Easter, where Christians have just celebrated the rebirth of Jesus out of the stone-cold tomb. I always think, well if the caterpillar can change its form from worm to butterfly, why is it so farfetched to believe in the resurrection? Why couldn't there be a real heaven, where we will surely have changed body forms? Why is it so hard to imagine ourselves flitting about, if you will, like butterflies or angels? Who knows?Never give up hope. When all is brown and withered and depressed, maybe we just need to pare our lives back to the essentials; an apt reminder for when serious illness comes to your family. Serious illness always gives us a wake up call, and reminds us of how much our family and friends mean to us.

P.S. The pacemaker keeps Dad nicely ticking. At least for now. But I don't really fear for the future for him because he plans to spend it in a much better place.

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Contributed by Melodie Davis from her weekly columnANOTHER WAY (http://www.thirdway.com/aw/).For information on using Another Way in a local newspaper, contact:ANOTHER WAY, 1251 Virginia Ave., Harrisonburg, VA 22801-2497; or call1-800-999-3534; fax at 540-434-5556; or email me at:Melodie@mennomedia.org