Green Growing Things

B Y WILLIAM G . JOHNSSON

I woke up in the dead of night, entranced by the exotic fragrance wafting through the open window. Thick darkness, not a quiver of air—but this! Never had I encountered anything so sweet, so pure. Wherever was it coming from?

When morning dawned, I embarked on a search. Surely there was a tree in blossom or a bush or a shrub that I had not been aware of.

No tree in bloom. No bush. No shrub.

The scent had disappeared, leaving no trace. Only mystery.

A couple of nights later, I went for a walk in the evening’s cool after the blazing heat of summer in India. The air held its breath in perfect stillness. Suddenly, there it was! Unmistakable—the same alluring fragrance floating in a band across our path.

We walked on a few steps and it was gone. We had walked through it and out of it. So near, so tantalizingly close, but it had vanished.

We walked on, turned a corner into another lane. Suddenly we found it, found the column of heavenly beauty hovering across our pathway. It drifted in a meandering train, narrow but intense. By stepping forward and back, we could track its course, follow it to the source.

A big surprise awaited us. The heavenly scent emanated not from a tree, bush, or shrub but from a tiny vine that entwined itself around a palm tree. The vine was barely noticeable, but it bore little white flowers: a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

I could hardly believe it. Such magnificence from such insignificance—incredible!

Now I knew what to look for in our yard. Not a tree. Not a bush. Not a shrub. A vine so lowly with flowers so tiny that it didn’t warrant a second glance.

Unless you knew!

I found it, growing silently beneath our window—our heavenly visitor.

Later I learned that the exotic plant was commonly known as Lady of the Night. Its flower was nocturnal, only experienced in the depth of warm, still darkness.

The Lady of the Night—what a gift. I love it.

I love all green growing things. Bursting with energy, they paint the planet, perfume the world by day and by night. The earth lies parched, powder dry, thirsting. Then clouds roll in and the drumming, thrumming of heavenly blessings begins. In two days, three days, something happens within the brown soil. Slowly, subtly, inexorably, the brown is changing. You see it, feel it: green growing things are painting the planet.

Strain your eyes: do you detect the first blade? It’s there, indiscernible, but working its magic. Green growing things have taken over.

One more morning and they leave you in no doubt. Tiny columns packed together, straight as a plumb line, reach upwards to the light.

Day by day they grow at a furious pace. Now they have doubled their height, now tripled, quadrupled.

Determined, unstoppable, out of crevices in the pavement, they fight their way. They spring into action from cracks on mountain crags.

Amazing! Exhilarating!

I love it. What could be simpler than a blade of grass? What could be more wonderful?

Wonderfully simple.

Simply wonderful.

Green growing things are fighters. They give their all because the clouds that shed their beneficence may not return soon. Make the most of every moment in the sun: spring to life, blossom, give birth.

Praise God for the gift of green growing things. Praise the God of green growing things.

From the blade of grass clawing through a crack in the pavement to the rain forest’s exuberance, green growing things cleanse the air we breathe, feed man and beast, pour out the fragrance of life by day and by night.

Ah, the scent of pines in the morning!

Ah, the fragrance of the eucalyptus after a shower passing through!

Ah, the autumn majesty of the redwood!

After many years of living in the Washington, D.C., area, we sold up and moved west. We bought a cozy retirement home sight unseen. We drove up and saw it for the first time: a huge California oak spread across almost the entire width of the property.

That tree! It was love at first sight. This was where we belonged. The big tree called out, “Welcome home!”

One aspect of the tree concerned me, however: the southern side was dense with foliage, but on the northern half the leaves were sparsely spaced.

Obviously, the tree had been neglected with too little water. I’d soon remedy that problem.

But the tree didn’t improve. On its bad side it resembled a person undergoing chemo whose hair was falling out. We called in an arborist. His answer shocked us: “Too much water. This tree is used to very dry conditions. You are drowning it.”

Could the tree be saved? Maybe.

The tree doctor brought out a long metal syringe from within his van. Carefully tracing the root patterns, he administered a series of shots.

“No more water until I tell you,” he ordered.

That same year of our arrival, the wheels of my life came off. After a lifetime basically free of physical ailments, I came to grim face with, in turn, a heart attack, coronary bypass surgery, and complications from the surgery. Once I had run marathons; now I struggled to take a few steps to the big easy chair across the hallway, in my study.

That chair had been the last piece of furniture we decided, in a final moment, to add to the moving van as we left the east. Now it became my refuge, my constant companion for month after month.

From the chair I had a full view of the big tree. I watched in wonder as it began to put out new foliage on the bald spots. It became a sign of hope.

The tree slowly recovered and so did I. I call it my healing tree.

In the Bible, a long saga of human life and death closes in a burst of paradisiacal light. The mess of our present existence fades away and a new heaven and a new earth take over.

There’s a city there, a glorious, unfathomable city, but there’s also a river carrying the water of life, and on each side of the river, guess what—a tree! This tree is unlike any you have ever seen or will see on this earth. It bears 12 types of fruit, a new sort every month. And its leaves are special: they are, says the Scripture, for the “healing of the nations” (Revelation 22:2).

The healing of the nations—I love it. Green growing things for the new heaven and the new earth!

From the book Simple Gifts, the new release by Oak & Acorn. The book is being serialized in the Recorder. See page 55 for information about how to get a pdf copy of the entire book.