sowing seeds

Did you ever say something regrettable and watch a loved one’s face just crumble? Can you remember what it felt like to see that familiar, trusted countenance fold in on itself like a flower? Sometimes, the offending word or phrase comes out in nearly slow-motion – don’t go there, your brain chides, but the tongue can be insolent and willful. More often, though, we crush somebody’s spirit and are on to the next activity before fully weighing the damage we’ve done. Those of us with quick tempers are especially familiar with this scenario. We vent, we stomp, we slam a door or a drawer – and in those few suspended seconds, it’s all very akin to the satisfying scratching of an itch. Something inflames a nerve, ruffles an insecurity, cramps a conviction, and that swift and sudden fury is like a freight train that can’t be stopped. How desperate we are to make ourselves heard. And in the aftermath, how dismaying to realize the destructive depth of our tracks.

We, as human beings, grapple with mighty challenges, and even mightier faults and frailties. Yet I have come to believe that no excuse can outweigh the price of unleashing an undeserved tirade. Those who care for us are bound to trip up occasionally, despite having our best interests at heart. As they fall, they may bruise a belief or crush an expectation. Unconditional love, after all, can be clumsy and groping and awkward. But in the end, it’s about feeling quiet gratitude for the effort – not jumping to condemn its execution.

Even the thorniest path is graced by an occasional wildflower. They are the bright spots we gather up and carry with us on life’s uneven journey, made all the more precious by their rarity along the way. And as any mother will tell you, no bouquet of long-stem roses can compare with a handful of daisies picked by a hopeful and innocent heart.