Spring's Little Pink Flower
Each year as the weather begins to shift, the pink gradient of the Japanese Magnolia’s bloom pops open in promise of warmer weather to come. Goodbye, cold rain, layers and threats of snow. Hello, sunshine.
Full disclaimer, I love winter. The short respite from the heat, humidity, and the lack of expectation from anyone to spend time outside. But for a few brief weeks while we’re on the cusp of spring, I flirt with the idea of being an outdoor person. The warmth of the sun. The twittering of birds. The sweet fragrance of the Japanese Magnolia.
When I was a student at State, I practically lived at The Reflector. Just in front of the office by the State Fountain Bakery stood this beautiful tree like a promise that spring was coming. It gave a sometimes necessary boost to help me push through until spring break.
My last semester at State when the flowers bloomed, it felt almost bittersweet. The promise of warm weather felt almost mocking because it would mean the end of my college career, the end of my time on campus, and the end of my time in Starkville.
A year later, I had just recently moved into my house when I noticed the pink blooms through the kitchen window. There stood a Japanese Magnolia at the corner of the porch. It was six months into my stint as news editor. I felt perpetually anxious — overwhelmed by what I didn’t know, juggling what I did know. I was working 60-plus hours a week trying to catch up, or even keep up. And there was the flower now right when I needed it. It was there again last year just as the fog or parenting a newborn was lifting. Now, just as my graduate school application is due, it springs open.
This year, I’ve welcomed the symbol as a reminder to pause — to pray, to meditate, to just be still. My thoughts are racing faster than they have a while. The stories and characters are popping into my mind faster than I can transcribe them. But every time I walk into the kitchen, I take a moment to be regrounded, to pull away from myself, to lean on someone greater than myself.
The uncertainty of change can be overcome, and the only thing to do in this waiting period is to lean into everything spring has to offer. A fertile place for creativity to spring from. Lazy Saturdays where the sun can be enjoyed without breaking a sweat. The promise of all the good things in the future.
“When anxiety was great within me your consolation brought me joy.” — Psalm 94:19
