Rutger's Revival
My resurrection
Jesus said to her, “Did I not say to you that if you would believe you would see the glory of God?”
John 11:40
If you’ve known Jesus for any length of time, you, no doubt have discovered that not only is He the Lord of lords but He is also the King of metaphor.
I’ve been on a journey of healing and hope for the last 18 months and in His compassion, Jesus has used countless metaphors to comfort and minister to my once shattered heart.
From the early days of my heartbreak until the present, Jesus has whispered comfort to me using the trees, bushes and plants in my yard.
I have documented previous lessons from my Master Gardener in the posts linked below:
https://craftc.substack.com/p/when-the-lord-cries-timber
https://craftc.substack.com/p/patience-and-purple
The most touching of those metaphors arrived in the form of the struggling little plant pictured above.
I discovered Rutger in the clearance section of our local Lowe’s.
I had been mourning an unexpected job change and often, when I found the pain almost too much to bear, I would wander through my backyard crying out to the Lord.
On warm days, the sun rays warmed my tense, grief-worn muscles as the Son’s ways soothed my battered heart.
I watered the shrubs and the rose bush with my tears while Jesus hydrated my soul with tender mercies and whispered promises.
These garden walks became sacred to me.
Jesus nudged me to buy more plants to nurture.
The Lover of My Soul knew that if I had more buds and blooms to tend, my visits with Him would most certainly lengthen.
He’s such a romantic!
I was perusing the Lowe’s clearance rack for inexpensive succulents when Rutger’s tiny orange flower caught my eye.
It was gorgeous.
His tangerined bloom was nearly hidden by small clusters of brown-tinged leaves that were frail and feasted upon by pests.
“Oh my gosh!” I told my daughter. “Look at this little guy!”
Thrilled with my newfound treasure, I placed the plant into my cart only to watch several dried, dead stems drop to the ground.
But when the stems fell, my heart lifted as visions of Charlie Brown’s needy little Christmas tree flashed through my mind.
I heard Charlie’s voice confidently proclaiming “all it needs is a little love.”
Just a few days prior to my Lowe’s trip, I watched the classic sci-fi film, “Bladerunner,” which featured Rutger Hauer as the rogue android, Roy Batty.
At the climax of the film, a defeated Batty realizes his death is near.
He delivers a heartwrenching soliloquy now known as the “Tears in Rain” speech.
The final words of this sad monologue of surrender are “time to die.”
After two weeks of watering, sunning and coddling, my little plant showed no desire to live.
His umber leaves continued to shrivel, and his once fiery orange head drooped.
And so I called my pallid plant “Rutger,” after the dying android.
It was as if his roots had forgotten how to drink, though his thirst was obvious.
And though the sun’s rays beckoned Rutger to do nothing more than turn toward their lifegiving warmth, he lay still, frozen in defeat.
Simply stated, his tiny cells had already accepted death’s invitation.
There was no need to RSVP to life’s overtures.
Oh, how I could relate.
During my recent season of deep grief, I spent a lot of time mourning the parts of myself that had died when I lost my dream job.
I was 67 years old.
The ministry I’d devoted 26 years of my life to had suddenly been ripped away.
I spent my forties, fifties and most of my sixties working alongside my husband.
We were passionately devoted to building a thriving bookstore ministry for our church.
Those decades of serving our church body were filled with indescribable joy up until the day we were told that the new pastor no longer wanted a bookstore.
That beautifully vibrant hunk of my life was now as shriveled and dry, as Rutger’s faded leaves.
In so many ways, my work had defined me and shaped who I was.
Where would I go?
What would I do?
I was like a migrating bird with no internal compass to guide my course,
Deprived of the natural instincts I’d long utilized to serve others, my wings flapped, but I was lost.
My soul had been grounded.
Like Rutger, death was sending me a summons.
The best parts of me were wasting away.
Rutger needed more sun.
I needed more Son.
And we both needed to be replanted as soon as possible.
When Jesus resurrected Lazarus, the man had been dead for four days.
The Lord had received word that his friend was gravely ill, yet He delayed His return to Bethany where He would visit and presumably heal Lazarus.
Jesus’ plan was sure and intentional.
It was the last miracle He would perform before His crucifixion—His final chance to turn doubts into dust.
When Jesus and His disciples finally arrived at Lazarus’ house, the scene for triumph was set.
Crowds of mourners, skeptics and followers had gathered—each person eagerly anticipating what the Lord’s next move would be.
From the quiet beauty of a woman healed by simply touching His garment’s hem, to the astonishing feeding of the five thousand, the Savior’s actions had been unpredictable.
But I believe it was Jesus who was most surprised by what He did when He encountered Lazarus’ grieving sisters.
He wept.
He loved Mary and Martha deeply.
They had sent for Him when their brother fell ill.
“Lord, if only you had been here, he wouldn’t have died!” cried Mary.
They were hurt and disappointed.
They didn’t understand.
And although Jesus knew that, in moments, their unbearable pain would be eclipsed by indescribable joy, His heart broke with theirs.
The book of Matthew tells us that even a sparrow will not fall to the ground outside of our Father’s care and that He has numbered the very hairs on our heads.
He sees us.
He knows our deepest desires and our most powerful passions.
He also knows when it’s best for us to let go of those things.
It took months for me to accept that the biggest blessings we are given in this life can have an expiration date.
‘Dream jobs’, open doors and circumstances that once enabled us to serve the Lord well for a season may exist for only a season.
“I am doing a new thing,” the Lord declared in Isaiah 43:19.
When the massive stone was removed from Lazarus’ tomb, the stench of death was nearly overpowering.
But when Jesus raised His holy hands and beckoned Lazarus to come forth, the fresh wind of the Spirit filled the cavern with new life.
The foul odor of decay instantly vanished.
Like the fragrance of a rosebud newly blossomed, the inspiriting sweetness of hope filled the air.
I was not an experienced gardener.
Truth be told, I had lost about forty percent of the potted plants I had purchased over a six month period.
But, as I’ve said, these flowers and succulents weren’t just plants—they were teaching aids, fit for the Master’s use.
A green thumb wasn’t necessary.
My caregiving instructions were straight from the King of Kings.
You might say I had a purple thumb—the color of royalty.
The Lord told me to create a new home for Rutger—a place with more sun, near other blooming plants.
I placed his pot near a small brigade of new “buds” in my old wheelbarrow.
Within weeks, my little guy began to perk up.
Rutger’s stems were standing strong and upright as his appetite for sunlight grew stronger. He proudly boasted two new brightly colored flowers.
It was then I realized why I was so captivated by my first glimpse of Rutger.
His one tiny orange flower peeking out from behind dead, dry leaves created a picture of instant hope.
The contrast was like a fresh and fragrant spring wreath lying against a dirty old tombstone.
Beauty among ashes.
With God’s help, I would soon be boasting my own fiery blossoms.
The Lord used water, sunlight and care to heal and rekindle Rutger’s growth.
He renewed the wasting cells that had fallen dormant and my little plant responded with eye-popping gratitude.
Now the Master Gardener would get to the root of my problems.
The book of Hosea tells us to “break up our fallow ground, sow righteousness for ourselves and reap in mercy.”
Bitterness had poisoned the soil in my heart, making it hard and unusable.
When I started my Substack, nearly two years ago, God began to break up and cultivate that soil—not with a shovel, but with words.
I hadn’t written in over forty years, yet I was compelled to document my grief, my pain and the wonder of the new path God had so lovingly set before me.
Every time I sat down to write, I felt Jesus tending to my soul in the same way I had tended to Rutger when he was ailing.
I thirsted for answers and He filled me with living water—enough, and then some, to pour onto my pages for others to drink.
His warming presence as I typed melted away my fears and apprehensions to allow the soft glow of truth and vulnerability to shine forth.
Day by day, post by post and note by note, the dry and stale remnants of pain and unforgiveness began to fall away.
People were responding to my story and my testimony.
A new ministry was blossoming!
Like Roy Batty, Rutger needed revival.
It wasn’t actually the little sprout’s “time to die.”
Rather, it was a time of being tenderly nourished and warmed enough to quicken the grand treasure that Rutger held deep inside.
Rutger is currently flaunting hundreds of brilliant, orange blooms.
Like Lazarus, I needed resurrection.
Jesus removed the dried and spent gifts I had used for so long and when He turned the soil in my soul, the promise of a glorious new writing ministry was unearthed.
The seeds of this harvest had long been sown.
Now it was time for words to be watered and metaphors to be mulched to allow stories of glory to blossom and bloom.
I have over 900 subscribers.
Oh, the pain of letting go.
The grief and heartbreak of feeling the fading colors of what once fed my very being.
But, oh, the awe and sheer celebration of the new life that hobbled forth from that grave.
What is waiting to blossom in you?
How beautiful🕊️🌱✨🌼🌻🌷🍃🌾
The morning after receiving disappointing news that a life-chapter was closing for me, God quite miraculously led me to John 13:7--"You do not realize now what I am doing but later you will understand." Those words gave me hope. I'm still living with the "why," years later, but it no longer hounds me. It sits quietly in a corner of my mind, waiting until Christ comes for me, and then all will be made clear. Meanwhile, with you, I've taken up writing again, which I hadn't pursued in decades. I praise God for the gratification it brings and for the relationships it has engendered, some with people I'll likely not meet until we're all in heaven!