My son Noah and I walked Josie around Holmes Lake last weekend. It was above freezing for the first time in days, but when we stepped out of the car and trudged toward the path, the wind blew hard from the south, straight into our faces. It was cold, but we were there, and Josie was already sniffing eagerly, so we decided to go the distance.
Noah and I didn’t talk much – it was too cold for that — but when Josie stopped to sniff the trunk of a silver maple perched on the shore, I observed out loud that the tree already had its buds.
“It’s seems a little early for that, don’t you think?” I asked Noah, as I stared at the reddish buds dipping and bobbing in the wind above my head. After all, it’s not even mid-January, right? How in the world would those tender buds survive at least another month and a half of Nebraska’s bitter chill?
Noah, who has loved trees ever since he could talk, informed me that many species put out multiple rounds of buds – up to six cycles, in fact, depending on the type of tree and the year. If it’s too early in the season and the buds freeze, the tree simply puts out another batch, and another and another, repeating the process until the circumstances are right for the buds to survive and flourish.
I thought about that silver maple tree and its premature buds for a while, because, truth be told, it reminded me a little bit of myself. How many times have I steamrolled forward, and, in my eagerness, excitement, and drive to produce, put something out into the world that wasn’t quite ready, a bud that was too weak to survive and thrive?
How many times have I let the need to produce and achieve be the boss of me, propelling me to keep churning out more, even when I and my idea weren’t ready?
Come to think of it, I did exactly that this week. I’m working on a proposal for a new book idea, and I’m so excited and passionate about this idea, I want to thrust it into the hands of the publishing board right this very minute. I admit, I also feel pressure, from both the industry and myself, to produce something new.
However, my agent gently reminded me that the proposal isn’t quite ready; we’re not there yet. More work needs to be done, more preparation, to ensure that this proposal is solid enough to survive the vetting process. Unlike the silver maple on the edge of Holmes Lake that gets six opportunities to produce buds that will bloom, I only get one chance to pitch this particular book idea to my publisher.
As I’ve mentioned here before, I’m Type A. My drive to achieve is hardwired into me. Like the silver maple, I am driven to produce. But slowly I am learning that neither my personality nor industry expectations should determine my productivity. Just because I’m “driven,” and just because society encourages relentless productivity, doesn’t mean I actually need to produce on a particular timetable.
Unlike the silver maple, I get to choose the circumstances that will give my bud the best chance to bloom.
Frankly, you stagger me, Michelle. I’m not Type-A (anymore!), so if I had produced a magnum opus like Luther, I think I would need to hide under the shade of a big, flourishing tree for a while and rest. How lovely that this budding tree is teaching you a lesson and that you have a good agent, so that you will send your proposal at the optimum time for it truly to flourish in publication. Actually, I’ve not thought about this in a long time, but when I first pitched my Love Letters to God book, despite that the editor loved the concept and proposal and pitched it all the way to the pubco, it was shot down there. I had been trying for a while to get it published, so having gotten this far, it really stung to see it rejected. The book wasn’t published until a number of years later. In my case, I know now it was because my circumstances had not yet bloomed (including some not so pleasant ones that God would want detailed in my book in order to help others). So, while that is not the exact emphasis of your post, it’s also another point. And what I love about a lesson I am seeing here from your beautiful insights is that amazingly this tree keeps budding and surviving even after the biting cold kills the buds. Wow! Please thank Noah for this lesson. I’ve only ever thought that if trees bud too early, and a biting frost kills them, then they will simply not bloom the following spring! This post just brims with hope. Thank you so much for sharing, and especially for sharing your writing continually via your blog and books. I love your tenacity, and your talent!!!
Love
Lynn
Agree with this 100%
Thanks for the wonderful reminder to let each project take its own time. Great image of Holmes Lake–I grew up a couple of miles from there, and used to skipper tiny sailboats across its waters in summer. I especially loved learning Noah’s information about tree budding!
I have the productivity pushiness in my brain all the time – and it’s especially strong right now at the beginning of a new year. I want to burst out of the gate before I’m ready.
By the way, I just LOVE that your son loves trees. 🙂
Noah really knows his trees! What a fabulous lesson those buds have taught you, Michelle. Thanks for sharing with us and reminding us to not jump out of that starting gate too soon.
Blessings!
I so needed to hear this! Thank you Michelle and Noah! I have a Noah too!
Wow, I love how God has set truth into everything He’s made and we learn things just from the smallest little parts of His creation!
I saw your post on Instagram and what Noah was teaching about the buds. Later in that morning I read this from Lilias Trotter (missionary to Algeria late 1800s-early 1900s). She was in a waiting pattern and came upon Song 4:16 in her devotional about the north and the south wind. This is what she said about the north wind—“The north wind that seems to nip the young buds has only driven back, it may be, the sap unto the roots to do a better work there for the time.” Lilias prayed for the south wind to come. I’m praying it will come for you and your roots will be strengthened in the waiting the waiting. You know that cottony fluff that takes to the wind in spring? That is the cotton fluff, the “down” within the buds that is lifted when the south wind comes…look for that in the spring 🙂
As I am finishing up my first book, I needed this. While the striving has been necessary, soon the resting needs to start. I need to give myself space to recover!
wow doesn’t nature always teach us something. What a wonderful lesson.