The Dogwood

When I was growing up one of the first flowers of spring were those on the sparse branches of the dogwood tree sitting in our front yard.  It was just off the driveway and no matter what door we went out, it would catch our eye.  I always noticed it, but really thought nothing of it.  It wasn't a very big tree and it was far less lush than the crabapple or the incredible cluster of the cherry tree.  This simple tree inspired no oohs and ahhs, but it never let us down.  It was the first to bloom.  My father was a bit of an amateur arborist, and he taught us quite a bit about the rhythms of nature, when things would bloom, heading off in search of pussy willows beyond our own yard, and cutting branch after branch of whatever was flowering at the time.  But he never cut branches of the dogwood ...the bouquet was always ready for us just outside the door.  Anyone making their First Communion would pose in front of that tree to have a picture taken, so it earned its place in our hearts and our storybooks.  It was steady, sturdy, reliable ....but not nearly as grandstanding as most flowering trees.  I hadn't thought too much of that tree until last year.  In our backyard now is a tree that for the first three springs did nothing.  It annoyed me a bit and I'd decided to cut it down.  There was more I could do with that gardening space, perhaps a lilac, a cherry ....something that made a statement ...delighted me in the spring.  Incredibly, just as I had firmed up my decision to chop down the tree ...it bloomed.  One morning, I noticed buds, tiny ...  Hmm, I thought.  The following morning it had unfurled the tiny buds and there were the flowers of the dogwood.  I was so, so excited and greatly relieved I had not taken the ax to its narrow trunk.  What a gift!  I loved the simplicity of this tree, some branches barely had leaves, never mind blossoms ...and that appealed to me even more, the starkness only augmenting the beautiful simplicity.  Phoebe arrived in the kitchen and joined me at the window.  "See that tree, I was going to cut it down." I said.  "Why?" she asked, not a fan of disturbing nature.  I told her it hadn't bloomed in all the time we had been in this house, and I was totally surprised to see those beautiful flowers now.  She listened to my excitement, knowing how much I love gardens and flowers and flowering trees.  I told her about my childhood dogwood.  She had smiled and laughed, listening to my tales and love of the dogwood.  And that was the end of that, so I thought.  But God and the dogwood had more for me, and God in the richness of His wisdom and His exquisite intimacy waited for the time when I could see the weaving of His grace ...how that day of the dogwood conversation was orchestrated so that I might understand something greater. 
I love finding comments from readers. Most people I know, but sometimes I don't. A few were  left by someone I didn't, but they were very thoughtful.  I did some research and found one of her sites offering beautiful rosaries, handmade with great faith and love. The last one struck me, deep brown beads adorned with Christ on the Crucifix of a dogwood tree.  She shared the story of the dogwood and the Crucifixion of our Savior, a story I had never heard.  I was stunned, re-reading the source, one I favor very much because of its orthodoxy, holding fast to the traditions and truths. It tells of the legend that Christ was put to death on the Cross made from the dogwood tree.  I had never heard this, but when I share this story others have ... I guess I wasn't meant to know until now.

"It is said at the time of the Crucifixion, the dogwood was comparable in size to the oak tree and other monarchs of the forest. Because of its firmness and strength it was selected as the timber for the Cross, but to be put to such a cruel use greatly distressed the tree. Sensing this, the crucified Jesus in His gentle pity for the sorrow and suffering of all said to it: "Because of your sorrow and pity for My sufferings, never again will the dogwood tree grow large enough to be used as a gibbet. Henceforth it will be slender, bent and twisted and its blossoms will be in the form of a cross -- two long and two short petals. In the center of the outer edge of each petal there will be nail prints -- brown with rust and stained with red -- and in the center of the flower will be a crown of thorns, and all who see this will remember." - Fisheaters.com

For me, God is letting me know He understands my cross, my loss, and it is united to His own.  My cross will bloom again, redemption and salvation are found only in Cross.  Both joy and sorrow coexist in the Cross ...neither stands alone.  Phoebe and I gazed at our dogwood together, my cross just months away from being given to me ...but we held our gaze ...together, and marveled at that flowering tree ...together. I never would have had that specific conversation with my girl had the tree bloomed as it should.  There would be no excitement to share, no past to the present story, and so, no story to tell...but there was and is. For good reason that dogwood, ever faithful, waited to bloom just for me at that moment in time.
One more grace granted, one more abundant showing of His love for this sad mom, missing, so very, very much one extraordinary daughter.  He lets me know too, that she knows ...she really does, and in some way, she is helping me carry the burden.  
I held a branch in my hand today to see the rust stained tips, edged with crimson ...it blooms again.  The Cross of death became the Cross of life ...for all time, for everyone.  The humble dogwood ...

May you be blessed with the grace of Divine Mercy on this great feast day.

Eternal rest grant unto Phoebe and may perpetual light shine upon her.  May she rest in peace. Amen