May 21, 2024
Monday morning. I slept well. We had a good weekend, spending time with extended family. The weather was springtime perfect, and we enjoyed easy, fresh evenings outside. Sunday was Pentecost Sunday, and our church invited fire dancers to perform, awakening us to the Spirit. So why do I feel as if my get up and go has gotten up and gone?
I push myself out the door, however, as part of my “befriend the body” initiative, but hoping along the way inspiration will well up within ,and I will discover what to write about in this post. Oh, and an unexpected source of energy would be welcome, too.
The first block I focus just on putting one foot in front of the other. I see nothing. Hear nothing. Smell nothing. I’m just putting in my time. I want to check off the Monday space under the “Walk” heading on my To Do list. Whatever works.
But then in front of me extending over a wall into the path of the sidewalk is an exuberant Bridal Wreath bush. White and fluffy. “Notice me. I am blooming and this is my time,” it seems to announce. Perhaps the next time I walk this same route its blooming time will be past. Over for another year. Or perhaps next year the conditions won’t be the same, and it won’t bloom in the same showy way. I have no idea of the life span of Bridal Wreath, but right now this is its moment.
Last week was the moment for the lilacs. Now, however, they have faded.
They are memory. At least the blossoms in their purple glory. Their fresh laundry scent continues to linger just a bit, but not for long, and the imagination is required to fully experience it. I remember the lilacs on my college campus at graduation time, but also the large, larger, largest ones lining the parkway I drove every morning to my father’s apartment the spring he was dying. I hope I will remember in the cold of winter how for a short period of time in the spring I was graced with the lusciousness of lilacs outside the kitchen window.
And now there is the blooming about to happen. The peonies.
On my walk I see a yard where the peonies have already blossomed. The stalks are heavy with their weight, and the blossoms are nearly touching the ground, but in our back yard they are becoming. Soon to be in their fullness. Be patient. A day or two more of sun will entice them to do what they are meant to do, to be. Their blooming, too, will be short-lived, but no less glorious.
And thus it is with each of us.
I am invited to pay attention to what is blooming right now. How am I showing and living who I am and how I am offering what is fully alive in me to others?
What has completed its blossoming? What needs to be acknowledged as having lived its usefulness, its beauty, its time?
What is on the verge of blossoming? And what might that mean?
What time is it now in the life of your garden?
An Invitation
What are you noticing about yourself as we move through these springtime days? I would love to know.
Living on Life's Labyrinth 