Every year, around Christmas, there is a cactus flower that blooms beautifully. People call it the Christmas Cactus. From the tips of its green jointed stems—like fingers linked together—round buds begin to form, eventually opening into blossoms of pink, red, or white. They look like baby birds taking flight with wings spread wide. The translucent hues of the petals, along with the bursting energy and fragrance of the blooms, naturally draw admiration, and their graceful beauty captivates everyone who sees them.
At the parsonage, I have been raising a cactus for several years. For some reason, however, it went two or three years without blooming. In the first year, I diligently watered it in hope of flowers, but instead, the green stems turned yellow and twisted, and my disappointment was great. I replaced the soil and moved the pot, and while the plant seemed to regain some vitality, still no flowers appeared. Clearly, something it needed was missing, preventing it from blooming.
One day, I visited a deaconess’s home. There, the same type of cactus was in full bloom—red blossoms cascading over the pot. I was captivated by its beauty, but I also felt a twinge of envy.
“Deaconess! How did you get it to bloom so beautifully? I have the same cactus at home, but it never blooms!”
She tilted her head thoughtfully.
“This is the perfect time for them to bloom… Oh! If it doesn’t flower, there’s a way to make it bloom. On a cold night—cold enough to chill it but not kill it—place it outside for a while. Then it will surely bloom!”
“In the cold?” I was puzzled, but her confident tone made me decide to try.
Following her instructions, I moved the cactus into the unheated garage on a bitter winter night filled with cold air. I spoke softly to it:
“Tonight, endure here! Even if it’s cold and frightening, just hold on this once, alright?”
As I walked away, I worried that a plant raised for years in the warm, bright living room might die in the chill. But a few days later, I brought it back inside.
For a while, I forgot about the cactus. Then, the other day, as I was watering it, I noticed something different. The leaves looked fresh and full of life. Looking closer, I saw tiny buds forming at the tips—round, plump, and already tinged with soft red, as if each had dabbed on a little rouge. Day by day, they changed, competing to bloom first. I picked up the pot and set it down again, my heart swelling with pride and joy at the sight.
I thought about that cold “winter night” the cactus had endured—nights when only chill, darkness, fear, and silence kept it company. And I thought of the beloved members of our congregation who, even now, are enduring their own long winter nights: those battling unwanted illness, those suffering from family troubles, those struggling with financial hardship. In loneliness, frustration, sorrow, despair, and sighs, they pass through nights that no one else can share for them. These are dark hours no other person can replace, for within them lies a unique fragrance and blossom that can only be born through such solitude.
We know believers who have emerged victorious from such nights through patience and faith. The coarseness once in them is gone, replaced by an enduring beauty and holiness that rises in their lives like a gentle morning mist. Like trees shedding their bark to greet spring, they clothe themselves each day with pure joy.
There comes a time for every person to bring forth a flower of beauty and fragrance—unique in all the world. Sometimes God leaves you and me alone in the dark night of suffering. With patience, He watches, waiting for the fragrance and blossom hidden within us to burst forth like the spread of wings.
The full bloom of that cactus after its cold “winter night” continues to blossom in the depths of my heart, even now.
Daily Sauntering 
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