One Unsuspecting Day

You cannot forget if you would

those golden kisses

all over the cheeks of the meadow,

queerly called dandelions.

Henry Ward Beecher

Liberal US Congregational minister

1813-1887

I admire the determination of the dandelion, determined to break through the crack in the sidewalk or appear in the midst of a pile of rocks.  I believe dandelions are like God or Spirit. They never give up, always push through, and poke up in the strangest of places.  The same could be said for the human spirit.

Most adults become disgruntled over the discovery of a beautiful yellow dandelion growing in the yard.   Yard keepers struggle in an attempt to grow a delicate flower, but easily wipe out this sturdy bud of yellow with harsh chemicals. On the other side, watch the face of any child fill with glee upon picking this little indestructible flower.  Danelions are frequently a mother's first bouquet.

I have never considered this bright yellow burst of joy to be a weed.  I like how it is thickly tufted and soft to the touch.  I remember as a child rubbing a dandelion under a friend's chin to see whether or not they loved someone. If the chin turned yellow, then validation was secured!

As in all things, however, the beautiful flower ages.  The head of the flower thins and eventually turns white.  I like to take the time to examine this flower at this stage, as an intricate pattern can be found displayed. 

And isn't this just like our lives as well?  In our youth so strong and vibrant and then we slowly advance to a delicate ball of fluff.  I make this observation kindly and mean no disrespect at all.  In time one grows comfortable with the idea that one day, one unsuspecting day, Spirit will gently pick me up and blow all my cares away.