It's a Merry Christmas

Lindsay has a huge shamrock plant that she's had for a very long time. It's a magnificant plant with broad leaves that open and close as the day runs it's course. Last fall, as the economy and the country's sense of confidence and well-being went into the toilet, the shamrock acquired some sort of shamrock disease. The plant became weak and started losing it's color. Bugs invaded it and it appeared as though the shamrock was doomed.

Lindsay happens to be very good with things that grow. She did some research and learned about methods she could try to revive her prized plant. I came home one day and the shamrock had been thinned and cut way back. She had applied a pesticide to rid the plant of bugs. Now it became a matter of regular watering and watching to see how the silent plant friend would respond.

Over the next several weeks, maybe months, the shamrock started to come to life. I didn't really notice but the leaves became thicker and a deeper green. The plant was getting healthy.

With the economy in the toilet our business was also down the drain. Lindsay and I were feeling great stress about the prospect of our main source of income being down the drain and my pending unemployment from my skiing job. One gray spring morning we were sitting in the kitchen sharing our thoughts of dread and gloom when at the same time we noticed that right in the middle of our newly revived and flourishing shamrock, was a single white flower.


The realization that we had noticed this sign of health and life stopped our conversation immediately. I think we both had a tear in our eye because here, right in front of us, was a profound symbol of rebirth. The shamrock that had been on death's door was alive and well. For me it was affirmation that things were going to get better.

As it turns out, the shamrock is a metaphor for a far more important return to health. Since late September and early October we have seen Clyde experience a very similar metamorphosis. A woman that was thin and weak and gray is now bright and strong and full of life. Her fears and apprehensions about her future and longetivity are turning to excitement and anticipation for what a healthy life holds for her.

We all understand that Clyde is not yet out of the woods. While her current health is better than it's been in years we still don't know about the anti-cancer effects of the transplant. That's to be determined in the next few weeks. We do know that now there is a good chance for recovery and health and that alone is the type of miracle that we hear and talk so much about at this time of year.

The flower in the shamrock didn't represent the business recovery Lindsay and I were thinking about when we noticed it. Instead it was a symbol for something far more significant. When compared to a picture I took of Clyde in Kay's kitchen at the end of September to one taken by Rooch on Monday, I can see a white flower among the lush leaves of a reborn plant.

Merry Christmas to all of you and thank you for prayers and good wishes all year.

Be well.