A Lesson from the Crape Myrtle
Spring is my favorite season — it feels like life itself is waking up again. Right outside our front door stands a crape myrtle that reminds me, year after year, that growth is always possible.
Every spring, I watch it come back to life, and every spring, it fills me with hope. Why? Because this tree has survived some brutal seasons — bizarre Texas winter storms, winds over 80 mph, and even tennis ball-sized hail. By all accounts, it should be weaker, worn out, maybe even gone. But instead, it keeps blooming. It blossoms, grows stronger, and becomes more beautiful than it was before.
I can’t help but see myself in that crape myrtle.
Some days, I feel like the big, sturdy leaf on the strong, established branch — confident, anchored, sure of who I am. Other days, I feel like the tiny bud on the thin branch at the back — fragile, barely formed, not sure if I’ll ever fully bloom. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter which one I am on any given day. What matters is that I’m still choosing to grow.
Growth isn’t always obvious. Sometimes it’s quiet and internal — like roots stretching deeper underground where no one sees. Other times, it’s loud and visible — bursting forth with color and life. Both forms of growth matter. Both are necessary.
That crape myrtle doesn’t rush the process, and neither can I. It simply follows the rhythm of the seasons — resting, rooting, and then rising again when the time is right.
It reminds me of this promise:
“They will be called oaks of righteousness, a planting of the Lord for the display of his splendor.”
— Isaiah 61:3 (NIV)
Maybe that’s where you are too. Maybe you’re the sturdy leaf, or maybe you’re the barely-there bud. Or maybe you feel like the storm itself has left you too broken to grow again. Let me remind you — your story isn’t over. Growth is still available to you, in ways you may not even see yet.
For me, that little tree by my door is God’s way of saying: keep going, keep growing, keep blooming.
And that’s exactly what I intend to do.
