The transformation has begun: Petal pink blossoms morph to green as a summer hydrangea moves toward fall.
I've watched its slow dance season after season and I've learned a secret: At the moment when color has all but drained away, color licks across the spent blooms again. New life kindles as rich crimson suffuses the papery petals, each cluster a firework display set to welcome the onset of fall. They'll be brighter and deeper and richer in old age than they ever were in youth.
On one of my first visits to see Melissa and spend time with her family twenty-four years ago, we viewed a documentary on the life of Corrie ten Boom. We watched the young woman grow old, as her smooth skin gave way to deep furrows of age. But the mystery was deeper than the lines on her worn face: She actually grew more beautiful with the passing years. The simplicity of youth was overlaid with certainty; innocence gave way to peace and confidence.
She had seen trouble--plenty of it--but now she knew by experience that the Lord is upright. "He is my rock," she could say, "and there is no unrighteousness in Him."
© Copyright August 2017 by Robert G. Robbins