REsources for Living
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Some days are special not because there is a birthday or a holiday—although those are very special days. Some days are special because if you are paying close attention, you get a sign. To me a sign is something a little different that says “Pay attention! This is something that matters!”
Even though I believe that what makes our world turn can be explained by hard science and good people, when a sign comes along it makes me stop and remember to open my heart and watch with big, wide-open wonder about this one life we have to live.
Eleven years ago my family and I moved across the country from a place with freezing cold winters to a place where it rains most of the winter. We missed the sparkly snow and the brilliant blue skies of our old home. We missed our family and our friends. We missed our house and our yard. For months we looked and looked but we couldn’t find a new house that was just right to buy, so when the Christmas season came we were still living in a tiny apartment. We had found a new church but hadn’t made a whole lot of real friends yet. It was a lonely time.
One drippy winter day we were walking along a path in the wet, green woods, enjoying the alive smells and what might have been the sun glowing through the clouds, when we noticed—growing a few feet off the path—a plant with bright red berries. The bush had shiny green leaves with sharp points and was as tall as some of the trees. It was growing in the middle of a huge, dead, fallen tree. The green and red in the middle of all that tan and grey made us all turn off the path and pick our way through the branches of the fallen tree, all the way to the bright green bush.
“What is it?”
“I’m not sure, but I like it.”
“It reminds me of Christmas.”
“OH!” I said, “It’s holly!”
And so it was. Holly—the stuff of Christmas carols and plastic wreaths and illustrations on holiday cards, and it was growing in the little woods we walked through almost every day.
We learned that holly wasn’t meant to grow in our area and when it does, it grows too fast and takes over where other plants should be; it’s an invasive species. So we decided to pick as much holly as we could from the woods.
We filled huge bags with holly; we decorated our whole apartment with holly—which was especially nice since we had none of our regular winter and holiday decorations with us, as they were all still in storage. The holly was bright and cheery and looked like the fresh winter woods had joined us inside our little apartment. We felt connected to our new state, and we had found a new family tradition, the gathering of the holly.
Now, every year right after Thanks-giving we walk up the same big hill, along a dry creek bed, and make our way into that little woods and then we fill a few bags with holly. We bring the holly home to our house and decorate everything with it. Even though my sons are grown men now, we still go.
Every year.
Those bright red berries and glossy green leaves became a sign to me. Holly meant the joyful winter holidays filled with carols and baking and happy family times. Holly also meant this was our new home and that winter was cloudy, with rainy days that smelled like a garden instead of bright sun and sparkly snow. Holly meant family and a cozy feeling in the middle of lots of dreary grey.
Every single time I see holly it also reminds me that it’s important to think big, wide open thoughts about life. When we moved away from everything and everyone we knew, I was sad. I wanted to have an adventure and to live in a new and beautiful place, but I missed my old life. I felt like this new place would never be home. Then we found the holly and the whole winter seemed to open up into a new world where I could make new friends and make new holiday traditions and maybe I wouldn’t always be lonely.
Holly was a sign that even in the middle of the dark, grey winter, when the sun never seemed to shine and when nothing felt familiar, there was still hope. The sign meant to leave room for big, wide-open thoughts and to trust that everything would work out.
In the end, things really did work out in my new home. I learned to appreciate my own little family and our time together without dozens of other family members around. I made new friends—lots and lots of new friends. After a while some of them started to feel like family. The grey days even started to feel like the perfect winter weather.
This year I am trying to look for a sign like the shiny green leaves with bright red berries waiting in the grey winter rain, and I’m trying to remember to open up my heart big and wide to the wonder of new things. Maybe, if you watch closely, you’ll see a sign, too!
- If I Can Stop One Heart From Breaking, A Poem for Healing - April 2, 2015
- REsources for Living - November 28, 2014
