The Time of the Trillium

It was elegant, unexpected, illusionary; a flower almost hidden in a bower of fern. Three glossy leaves, very dark green, provided a frame.
The flower seemed to peek out from the ferns, as if inviting me to come closer. I bent to see if it had a scent and found that only a fresh, earthy smell rose toward me, not the sweet perfume my child’s mind had expected. My fingers stroked the pristine petals; they felt like the satin edging on my favorite blanket. The leaves were slick and smooth, the ferns feathery and light. I had never seen a flower quite like it.
But more than its physical properties, the flower I saw in the Bellingham woods one spring day many years ago imparted a sense of wonder that have stayed with me all of my life, for it was through that flower that I was first introduced to the mystery of God. In that sun dappled woods, protected by towering pines, I experienced for the first time an awareness of God’s beauty and creation. There was a perfection about the scene, the pale green moss carpeting the forest floor, the shafts of sunlight dancing here and there, that even my childish mind could appreciate. But it was my mother’s voice and the feel of her hand on my shoulder, the way she bent down beside me to examine this fabulous treasure, that cemented the moment in my mind forever.

“That’s a Trillium,” she said. “It’s a very special flower because it represents God in the Trinity.” We didn’t belong to a church at that time and this was the first time she had spoken to me about God. Her own family had not been churchgoers, but somewhere along the line she had learned about the Father, Son and Holy Ghost and she explained them to me in the simplest terms. I saw ripe tears, like silver coins, slip from the corners of her eyes, tears that I only understood many years later, when I too experienced the holy yearning, the longing that can suddenly pounce upon the heart... Kneeling there, in her faded slacks and dimity shirt, her hand still on my shoulder, her voice softened as she continued. “It’s the only flower in the whole world,” she said, “that has three petals and three leaves. It always blooms just at Easter time, to remind us of the sacrifice Jesus made for us.” She straightened up, placed my hand in hers and began to lead me on the path towards home. She walked very slowly, her lanky legs barely moving, as if to prolong this magical moment as she told me about the life and death of Jesus Christ. Her voice shook slightly as she spoke. Her large hand gripped mine a bit too tightly, but I didn’t mind. I wanted that day to go on forever, with its heightened intimacy, shared mystery and sense of discovery.
And though my mother is gone now, that day did go on forever, as fresh today as the day it was lived.