Dahlias and the Artistry of God
Considering God's creativity while digging up dahlia tubers
Life is made up of marble and mud.
Nathaniel Hawthorne
I stick the pitchfork into the well-packed autumn soil, prying around the perimeter of a chopped-off dahlia stalk. All this summer, this plant provided lovely, layered blooms. It’ll be too cold here in the Frozen North for them to last outside, so we must dig up the tubers and bring them in for the winter.
Spidery fingers gnarl around each other. Each one, when separated correctly, will grow into its own plant: unique, but identical to the original bloom. The variety of dahlias amazes me. A pack of seeds, carefully tended, will lead to a surprise bunch of blooms. The tubers guarantee a more predictable result, from the lovely Café Au Lait to the striking Black Satin.
As I consider the array of dahlia varieties, the magnitude of God’s creative power hits me again. Dahlias are just one kind of flower, yet there are so many different shapes, colors, and sizes. Expand your perspective to all flower, all plants, all created things - glory be, there’s a lot of variety in the world! I think of the power required to create so many unique things. To tame a lion, to sustain an oak tree, to protect a fragile bud. From the greatest to the least, one would need infinite power to create and sustain.
Each thing is intricately different. Dahlias need brought in for the winter; hollyhocks need a cold snap to grow. Allium is planted in the fall; sunflowers in the spring. Tulips won’t last you five years; you can’t kill a thistle. The power to create and sustain all the world requires great wisdom.
I love the example of the Yucca Plant. This dry-country shrub needs a certain moth to pollinate it, and the moths need the Yucca Plant for their eggs and larva. Symbiotic relationships like this reveal the intricate wisdom and care of the powerful creator, wisdom greater and more involved than I could ever know.
These tubers I’m harvesting will be stored throughout the winter and separated at some point - after an eye where the stem will grow becomes evident. Because of our unseasonably warm fall, some of them are already sprouting these shoots. They don’t know what season it is. They’re trying to grow when they are supposed to be hibernating. I hope I don’t do that, but I know my tendency to charge ahead when I’m supposed to wait on the Lord. I can’t much blame the tubers, then!
I pry up another bunch of dahlias. My fork has skewered one of the tubers, but the bunch will still be fine. I smirk to myself. If these tubers could think, what would they think of me? Coming at them with a fork and shovel! But, they can’t see what’s in the future. They don’t know the frost is coming. Perhaps I view God in the same way as these flowers would see me….
An all-wise, all-powerful God could be cruel, but not our Creator God. He is also all-kind. His perspective is greater than ours, far greater! So while we may not see his kindness immediately, it is all for his glory and our good.
As I separate the tubers by color into sturdy plastic crates, the sun starts to sink in the west. It’s going down earlier now that winter is approaching. These peaceful evenings are becoming my favorite times to pray. My mind is quiet, albeit the musings from the garden.
I start scheming for next spring. I have a few packets of dahlia seed I’m going to try to start. I’m curious what they’ll look like - it should be a good mix, if I can get them to maturity. Some will give plentiful blooms. Others will put that energy into developing tubers! I think again of the kindness of the Creator in real life: that those places we are pouring into may be producing fruit that we do not easily see. Yet, it is fruit that leads to growth and reproduction. I pray that my ministry is even more fruitful than my dahlia crop!
I think back to when these dahlias were planted, and of the grace of God. While much energy and labor has been invested into their growth, a human can not pull a flower and make it taller or pry a bud and make it bloom. Although I’m called to be a cultivator, I am not the one who makes the plants grow. The Parable of the Sower in Mark 4 convicts me. I read of the seeds who didn’t make it: shallow-rooted plants, or those choked out by weeds. Jesus explains that these are like the people who stop following him because of discouragement or distraction. I think of my friends who are struggling or searching for fulfillment where it will never be found, and I wish I could transplant them in an easier path.
But I am not their gardener.
I am not all-powerful.
I am not all-wise.
I am not all-kind.
I trust the one who is, and I pursue him with all my heart. I think of his call, to take up my cross and come and die… how can I ask my friends to follow me in this, when I don’t know how long I can persevere in this command? Too often, I let my own frailty discourage me from the majesty of God’s calling. If only I could have faith the size of a mustard seed!
Yet, I am not done growing. Praise God. This season is not the end of my story… winter is the night before the dawn of spring. Some years, winters go long.
So, I wait, and I trust, because I know the one who is in charge of it all. He is all-powerful. He is all-wise. He is all-kind.
And he’s not done with me yet.
Thanks for spending ~5 minutes of your time with me! I hope that you found this article encouraging and thought provoking (: Same time next week?
So, until next time: wake up in time to see the frost, share something with your neighbor, and drink a cup of apple cider for me.
Faithfully,
Katie Stacey
PS - If you really like my writing, you can upgrade to a paid subscription. Help me pay for a doctorate or a greenhouse!