The circle of life.
After winter must come spring.
Mom! Look! A flower!
Three weeks have passed since we officially welcomed spring.
Since that day, my children have been waking up every morning and asking: “Mom,
where are the flowers?” They have even spent time staring at dirt, watching and
waiting. Their precious little minds know that spring brings flowers, and so,
why aren’t we seeing them just yet?
The logician in me answers them kindly yet matter-of-factly,
and their Pre-K science lessons have helped a bit in their understanding of the
life cycle too. But as I assure them that the flowers of spring will soon come
to life and be visible all around us, I can’t help but be in awe of their innocent
willingness to wake up one morning out of winter and see spring: color, beauty, sunshine, and flowers.
Well, it finally happened. As we were walking in our yard a
few days ago, one of my 4.5 year old boys stopped suddenly and shouted “Mom! Look!
A flower!” As I looked down in confusion (I hadn’t planted any flowers yet),
his sweet little finger was outstretched toward the most beautiful spring
flower his enchanted eyes had ever seen: a lone dandelion.
Oh how I beamed at his proud discovery, and the secret I
kept about it. It’s amazing, isn’t it? Do we, as adults, ever stop and admire
the beauty of a dandelion? I doubt many of us do. We know what kind of “flower”
it is, we know what it becomes, and its certain demise that is soon to follow.
But in a child’s eyes, in a landscape otherwise still mostly brown and lifeless,
the doomed dandelion’s vibrant yellow petals shine bright and beautiful.
This blog post is dedicated to my paternal grandfather. He
taught me the most important lesson I have ever learned about life: death. 20
years ago today, I sat by his side for hours, holding his weakening hand until
he peacefully breathed his last breath. Until the day my children were born, I
had never been so certain of how close I was to heaven in that very moment.
Whether we are coming or going, the passage is a miraculous one.
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