Tree of promise

  If ever a woman bespoke her name, Orchid McQueen did. She radiated regal beauty. She displayed a gentle tenderness and vulnerability while at the same time exhibiting an aura of confidence and capability. Her strength of character touched everyone who knew her, and her kindness and generosity reached countless individuals who never even met her. In the 1970's, on the cusp of emerging civil rights, she, a black female, played the role of God in a church production. Her bold voice rang from the podium as she spoke passages of Scripture, and her demeanor generated a perfect blend of pride and humility. Even those who may have squirmed at the thought of a black female God respected the none too subtle implications of her role.
   Little wonder, then, that shock waves of grief enveloped the community that knew and loved her when a sudden heart attack claimed her in her prime. She left behind a sweet-tempered, distraught husband and two teen-aged children who, shaken and frightened and angry, tried desperately to grasp onto courage in the face of despair. As a way of paying tribute, as a way of memorializing her spirit for future generations, her congregation planted a beautiful orchid tree in the church courtyard. Its delicate blossoms served as reminders of Orchid's inner  beauty, which touched and inspired others. Its life cycle annually promised new beginnings following periods of barrenness.
   When the church property was sold to make way for redevelopment, a Lowe's hardware store, with its accompanying yards and yards of cement parking lot, took place of the sanctuary that had served hundreds of families for decades. The orchid trees became part of the demolition.
   It was then that I decided to plant orchid trees of my own. They do not disappoint. Every spring the shabby pods and drab branches give way to green leaves and precious pink symbols of hope. They symbolize not only Orchid's life, but the essence of all that is miraculous. The trees stand amidst an entire garden of emerging color. African daisies, pyrancantha, camellias, and other flowers I cannot name because I grew up on city streets herald the promise of spring. Their intricate handiwork convinces me of God. I feel embraced by boundless love and energy and the immortality of my friend.