You feel the cool dirt slink upon you as you sleep silent in the ground– for soon you plan to wake with the sun. Until then you creep quietly, quietly until it is your time. You emerge from the ground a tiny shoot. You grow and grow until you stretch your arms wide and green into the vibrant light and drink the gentle rain from the sky. Finally you are free to unravel your beauty, the morning sun holding your gaze and illuminating your petals of deep purple. You don’t toil or worry: you know you are cared for. You don’t acquiesce to the lie of comparison: you just bloom. You don’t wander to the right or to the left: you follow your path– always towards the light. You don’t clamor for attention: you are confident in your truest self. While you sway gentle with the breeze, you also hold firm to your place. When the storms come, you trust you are deeply rooted. When all seems lost, you are still– you don’t lose hope. You know there will be a time to bloom again.
“Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? . . . Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these” (Luke 12:25, 27).