"A Strong Immortal Hope"

It's summertime in Fayetteville (well, almost), and that means two things:  one, it's hotter than hell's kitchen, and two, my gardenia is going to bloom.  And bloom.  And bloom.  My parents both grew up on farms, and they both inherited the skill and love of watching things grow, and when Scott and I moved here and began trying to landscape, I wanted some of those wonderful plants from home.  Accordingly, they rooted azaleas, gardenias, turk's caps, and so forth for me, and my front yard is a riot of green and color at various times throughout the year.

The summer before her death, on the rare occasion when Mama felt like venturing outside, we would slowly make our way into her side yard where her enormous old gardenia bush was busily producing flowers.  She'd stand there and sniff it gratefully for a moment, and then we'd head back inside, usually with one of those lovely flowers in hand.  That particular gardenia was one that she rooted from my grandmother's (her mother-in-law), and my grandmother had rooted hers from HER mother-in-law.  In other words, my gardenia that proudly explodes with white delicately scented buds is literally part of my family's roots.

I planted it right next to the place on the driveway where I park my car, and that aroma of home hits me as soon as I emerge from its air-conditioned depths.  Until the heat wilts them, the flowers are an intense white, almost too white to be real, as white as the stole I wear during Easter and for every funeral I preach.  It could be sad, but strangely, it isn't.  That gardenia bush with its resurrection-pure blooms is a reminder that death cannot truly part those whose hearts are knit together in love and that hope in our eventual reunion is as fragrant and strong as those blossoms.  Charles Wesley addressed this in a lovely hymn in which he acknowledges the reality of tears, tempered by that hope and that promise.  May you find solace in the gardenia and joy in this hymn, as you think of those whom you love who now rest within the arms of God.

If death my friend and me divide,
Thou dost not, Lord, my sorrow chide,
Or frown my tears to see;
Restrained from passionate excess,
Thou bidst me mourn in calm distress
For them that rest in Thee.

I feel a strong immortal hope,
Which bears my mournful spirit up
Beneath its mountain-load:
Redeemed from death, and grief, and pain,
I soon shall find my friend again
Within the arms of God.

Pass a few fleeting moments more
And death the blessing shall restore
Which death has snatched away;
For me Thou wilt the summons send,
And give me back my parted friend
In that eternal day.