Thursday, March 7, 2019 – Tulip Stems

There’s just something about tulip stems.

Graceful, subtle, and smooth: they have no thorns. They stand stall, quietly doing the job of supporting the more visible thing: the tulip flower itself.

When cut, and separated from the energy in the bulb, they soon grow weary and bend. They stoop low, even before the flowers begin to drop their petals, striking unlikely poses.

I watch the pink and white bunch of flowers on my kitchen table as waxy tulips relax and open, and sleek stems begin to droop ever-so-slightly, and I see the whole world right there.


I’m a writer, reader, and creative. I thought by now I’d have things figured out, but I keep coming up with more questions. I think that’s okay. I’m here most mornings pondering ordinary things and the thin places where faith intersects.

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