Flowers grow out of dark moments.

Hear the words of Corita Kent, artist and seeker of truth, who once declared: “Flowers grow out of dark moments.” In this simple yet radiant image, she unveiled a mystery of existence—that beauty and hope are not born only from sunshine and ease, but often spring forth from sorrow, struggle, and shadow. Just as the seed must first be buried in earth’s darkness before it blossoms, so too must the human soul sometimes descend into trial before it brings forth new strength and vision.

The flower is among the oldest symbols of renewal. It begins hidden, unseen beneath the soil, pressed down by weight and shadow. Yet in silence it gathers strength, pushing through the darkness until at last it breaks into light, revealing color, fragrance, and form. Kent saw in this process the pattern of life itself: our dark moments, though grievous to endure, may serve as the soil from which compassion, wisdom, and courage are born. Thus the very places that feel like tombs may in time become gardens.

The ancients also bore witness to this truth. The myth of Persephone tells of descent into Hades and return to earth, a cycle of sorrow and rebirth, winter and spring. The people of Greece knew that the darkness of winter was not the end, but the preparation for blossoming. So it is with us: when despair enfolds us, when shadows seem to choke the light, we may yet trust that from these trials, flowers of unexpected beauty will emerge.

History, too, gives us its testimony. Consider the life of Nelson Mandela, who spent twenty-seven years confined in prison, surrounded by the darkness of injustice. Yet out of that long trial grew the flower of reconciliation. He emerged not hardened by bitterness, but softened by endurance, able to lead a nation toward unity. The very soil of his suffering became the root-bed of his greatness. His life cries aloud the truth of Kent’s words: that beauty often blooms from pain.

This teaching does not deny the reality of suffering. The dark moment is real—loneliness, grief, injustice, despair. Yet it insists that suffering need not be sterile. Pain can become the ground in which empathy grows, loss can teach us tenderness, failure can give birth to resilience. To embrace Kent’s vision is not to celebrate darkness, but to honor the flowers it may produce if we endure with faith and openness.

The lesson is clear: do not despise your dark moments, for they may be shaping within you a beauty not yet visible. When sorrow comes, do not curse it as the end, but see it as soil, heavy though it feels, in which the seeds of your future strength may lie hidden. Guard your heart in patience, for the bloom may take time. But trust that the process is ancient and true: out of despair comes hope, out of shadow comes light, out of death comes life renewed.

Therefore, O traveler of life, carry Corita Kent’s wisdom into your days. When hardship strikes, whisper to yourself: “Here, in this darkness, flowers are being prepared.” Tend to them with courage, water them with hope, and in time you shall see them break forth, not only for your healing, but to bring beauty to all who pass by.

So remember: flowers grow out of dark moments. Your suffering is not wasted. It is the hidden garden where tomorrow’s joy is planted. Walk on, endure, and wait for the blossoming that is yet to come.