My clematis has finished blooming. It's my favorite oracle of spring, and each year I’m taken aback by its beauty. My phone has a new picture every season to chronicle its arrival; an annual reminder that life returns.

I have two of them, climbing trellises in front of our garage.

This year, though, only one of them grew. Right beside it, where the other clematis used to climb, there's… nothing. No new shoots, no signs of life. Just bare ground. 😥

If you look closely, just behind the fence, you’ll see something unexpected: a tiny "volunteer" maple tree, undoubtedly the work of wind and birds. I didn’t plant it. I didn’t even notice it at first. But there it is; alive, green, growing.

It’s easy to look at that empty clematis spot and feel a little sad. It had been so dependable. I’d gotten used to it showing up, blooming on cue. But life doesn’t always work on cue. And gardens, like people, have their seasons.

The clematis, the bare ground, and the baby maple are each telling a truth. Not the same truth, but each one sacred in its own way.

The clematis speaks of faithfulness; of returning beauty, showing up in its season, offering color and joy right on time. It's the kind of growth that makes your heart exhale. But right beside it, the bare ground holds its own truth. It reminds me that some things end quietly, and sometimes without warning or permission. Sometimes, what once bloomed vibrantly doesn’t return and we are left to learn how to live with that absence.

And then there's the maple: Small. New. Uninvited but not unwelcome. It tells the truth of surprise, of what happens when you're not looking, not planning, not controlling. It says growth can still come even if it's not what you hoped for, even if it’s in the wrong spot, even if it changes the shape of your garden. (OK, it is unwelcome there and I plucked it up, but this is my story and I'm telling it my way 😂)

Growth isn't always predictable. Loss isn't always permanent. And beauty doesn’t always show up where we expect it. But every one of those things; the clematis, the bare ground, and the little maple has something holy to offer if we’re willing to look and listen.

My wish for you this week, Reader, is that you’ll notice what’s blooming and honor what isn’t. May you have the grace to grieve what’s gone, the curiosity to welcome what’s new, and the wisdom to know that every part of your story, even the quiet, bare spots, belongs. I hope you’ll find beauty, not just where you expected it, but also where it surprises you. That's the fiLLLed life.

Live a fiLLLed life, Melissa ​

P.S. Someone who knows abut these things told me that the absent clematis' story may not be finished; it may return next year. Which reminds me of another sacred story...