bloom.

A number of Sundays ago, my host sister delivered the word at church. She began her sermon by showing a time-lapse video of plants growing, accompanied by gorgeous instrumental music. As the music swelled, the flowers bloomed. For the entire clip, I was completely transfixed. I only broke my gaze briefly to glance around, and noticed that everyone in the room was silent and still, completely mesmerized by this process.

When the clip finished, I sat spinning for a few breaths. The beauty of the process of growth was overwhelming, a testament to life and creation. My sister gently spoke - breaking the stillness with intentional words. She provided a narrative to what we had just witnessed: noting that what originally seemed so vulnerable had grown to encompass a unique and incredible beauty. Further, she noted the processes that occurred that were imperceptible, like symbiotic relationships, nutrition from roots and the necessary warmth from the sun.

It's impossible to see this process of growth unassisted, and naturally, we frequently appreciate flowers solely in their mature state. Perhaps we do the same with people, noting solely the highlights of their being, ignoring the strains they dealt with in order to attain their current status. And perhaps we are unable to appreciate the power of potential we hold before we come to fruition.

My sister drew a metaphor of community for us: we are the plants, in different phases of growth, leaning into the sunshine, blooming at different moments. We assist one another as we become new creations, simply by our being. Some elements of nature are more instrumental in our growth, but everyone in our community serves an important purpose.

Since this Sunday, which truly was many Sundays ago, I've been preoccupied with ideas of process and growth and the lessons of flowers. And truthfully I've been a tad consumed and guilty of being enormously existential.

But i have had serious observations. I've been touched as I witness the care that it takes to tend to house plants: the consideration and the awareness. I've been amazed at the complexity of front yard garden ecosystems. And I've been surprised to see potted plants in the most destitute of locations. When visiting refugee families, I understand that the material items in the house are the bare necessities. Seeing a succulent or a single blooming rose on an otherwise bare windowsill has continued to strike me.

And I've been unsure of exactly what meaning to make of it all. At first, i thought of the care that it took to maintain the plants, and then, how dedicated people were to finding beauty in circumstance. I thought of the plants as indicative of resilience, a determination to bloom, despite the dirt that the beauty emerges from.

These little plantitas can be understood metaphorically as the refugee families themselves, uprooted and oftentimes solitary. A surprisingly gorgeous occurrence, growing and blooming in unfamiliar ground. Their bold colors often stand out in contrast to cement walls and dirt floors, they are unmistakable.

They are beautiful, but truly, they would flourish even greater if planted in the soil, amongst others. In a place where they can stretch their roots deep and cross pollinate with others. The growth of plants reflects a truth we know: we are made for community.

With variety and diversity, soils grow richer. Simply by being in communion with others different from ourselves, we are stretched. We encompass deeper colors, we grow to new heights. Parts of our potential would remain dormant in our souls if we chose not to engage in relationship.

Quito Mennonite Church has shown me the most radical hospitality, the most sincere inclusion, they've invited me to grow roots. Glancing around during a church service, I see people from every walk of life, similarly growing roots, inching toward the river of life. And I see people flourishing: dancing, brimming with joy, entirely uninhibited, completely blooming.

It is an absolute privilege to grow in this community of love.