Reclaimed & Restored

“I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strayed, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak, and the fat and the strong I will destroy. I will feed them in justice.” Ezekiel 34:16

Eleven years ago, my children gave me a lilac bush for Mother’s Day. Lilacs remind me of my own childhood when three lilac bushes framed the living room picture window. Despite all the dark things happening within our home, every spring those bushes would drip with white, lavender, and deep purple blooms. The heady, sweet scent was always a welcome relief from the odor of cigarettes and alcohol. This annual display of beauty gave little Sherry some hope.

My Mother’s Day bush has grown and filled out. Each spring, it seems to be covered with more and more blooms. For a week or two, the scent of lilacs transports me back to a few bright moments in my childhood where hope and beauty collided with despair and darkness. This spring, the lilac bush reminds me again of beauty despite brokenness.

A heavy, late winter snow fell this year, covering the dead brown earth with a fresh white blanket. I sat in my house, enjoying a cup of coffee, marveling as the intricate snowflakes drifted to the ground. Everything looked beautiful and dreamy. The snow coated the branches of every tree and bush in our yard. My privet bushes bowed to the ground with the weight of the snow, while my lilac bush remained sturdy, despite piles of snow coating the branches. Later the temperatures rose, and the snow turned into icy rain. By night, the tree branches glistened with icicles and my whole yard glittered. I went to bed, dreaming of my magical snow globe world.

I was a little worried about the privet bushes. They were so bowed down that I wondered if they would survive the weight of the ice and snow. But when I came downstairs the next morning, they had perked back up, lifting their branches to the bright sun. I went into the kitchen and opened my patio blinds. The sun reflected my snow-covered yard, blinding me for a few seconds when something caught my eye. I noticed two main branches of the lilac bush lying down on the snow. They looked forlorn, and upon closer inspection, I realized they had partially snapped off from the base of the bush. My beautiful snow globe world had cracked, breaking something that was beautiful.

Three weeks ago, I posted on Facebook that I had finished my book. This book has been a labor of love and grace. I had always dreamed of writing a book, perhaps to tell my own story. But I never imagined the journey that it would take for me to get to that place. It started with a series of events that left me wondering who I was, and who I wanted to be. Some of these events were ordinary life transitions like dealing with an empty nest while others were unexpected losses and crises. But through all of it, I felt God was inviting me into a deeper healing process not only from what was going on in my life then, but what had gone on in the past as well.

Instead of jumping to get a job after my children left home, I invested the time to do some internal work. And for this first time in my life, this extrovert craved space and solitude! I wasn’t totally alone; I spent hours communing with God through His word and in prayer. I also spent a lot of time reading and listening to any material that offered me perspective, care, and support such as blogs, books, and podcasts. Finally, I found community, in my Life Groups at church, friends, family, and mostly my husband. These safe places allowed me to share some of the ugly, crushing, shame-filled experiences, as well as the beauty I was now discovering.

We forgot about the bush this past spring in the midst of editing and finishing my book. Before we knew it, the broken branches were budding with both leaves and blooms. We decided to wait before severing it from the rest of the bush. Why not let it bloom once more before we cut it down? And bloom it did. Soon the branch was saturated with purple flowers, filling vases throughout my home. But something else happened unexpectedly, my peony bush also bloomed at the same time. And it too was covered with vibrant pink flowers. Wanting to capture this moment, I filled the house with vases of lilacs and peonies.

I discovered peonies later in life. They seem more sophisticated than my lilacs. When they first bloom, they open as soon as the sun peaks over the horizon, and close as dusk falls. At the height of their short life, they flash their vivid pink petals for the world to see, displaying delicate yellow stamens and pistils. In the short five years since I planted them, another Mother’s Day gift, my peony bushes now also drip with blooms. These little bushes, if cared for, will continue to bloom throughout my life and beyond. Peonies have been known to bloom for up to 100 years.

These flowering bushes represent my lifelong need for beauty. Even what they symbolize illustrates my past and present. Both the white and lavender lilacs of my childhood embody innocence and spirituality. It should have been a time in my life where childhood innocence was celebrated, and my spiritual formation developed. Peonies represent compassion, healing, and renewal. Since planting my peonies, I have begun learning self-compassion and healing.

The fact that the two different flowers bloomed simultaneously is not lost on me. I had just sent out my book to friends I trust to offer valuable feedback. I want this book to be the best version of itself, so I’m inviting others to critique it before I publish it. Yet, the book had no title. People have offered some great suggestions, but nothing seemed to connect with me. For a while, I had thought about titling it My Ugly House Restored. But for too long, the ugly of my life held sway over the beauty I desired. It defined my living nightmares as a child, the names I was called, and how I saw myself even as an adult. The book has some ugly moments in it, but I am not defined by the ugliness that was perpetrated on me.

My friend Michele sent me another suggestion for the title, the word “Reclaimed”. I looked up the definition of that word along with restored, and although the words are often used synonymously, they have different meanings and applications. I felt my book was both, and that’s when the title hit me. Reclaimed & Restored will be released in October of this year. God reclaimed my life from fourteen years of sexual abuse and has lovingly led me on a thirty-five-years-and-counting restoration journey. After settling on that title, both my lilacs and peonies bloomed together. I can place the lilac blooms from my broken branch into the same vase as the peonies to create a beautiful centerpiece on my table; a centerpiece that integrates my past and present into something beautiful.

Yesterday, Terry cut off the broken branches of the lilac bush. And in a week or two, my peony bush will be devoid of blooms. But right now, I will bask in the goodness of God as their blooms fill my home. And I know that next spring they will bloom again. I have no illusions that I will make the New York Times Best Seller List with my little book. I am self-publishing, so I don’t have a PR team hyping my book. But I do know I have faithfully embarked on a healing journey with God from my days of seeing lilac bushes in the yard to discovering peonies as an adult. If my words impact just one reader, I have done what God has called me to do. And as disturbing as the sexual abuse was, my deepest desire is that the readers will see the beauty God has given me, time and time again!