High on Happiness

Posts Tagged ‘Waiting’

They had been standing in the wings waiting forever.  Well, that’s how it seemed to them anyway.   A whole spring and half a summer is a long time for little flower spirits, after all.

They knew all their steps.  They had practiced their unfolding until they were perfect:  First they would be all tucked in and curled up tight.  Then, still holding their petals closely together, they would slowly stand up straight.  And finally, when they heard the music push outward inside them, they would open their petals wide and dance in the light.

It was only last night that they finally got their real costumes.  “Oh! Pink!” one of them would shout, seeing what was assigned to her.  “I so wanted to be a pink one!”

“Oh!  A variegated purple!” the next one would exclaim.  “Just what I dreamed!”

Now their moment was near, and they could hardly contain their excitement.    Just when they thought they could bear it no longer, the beautiful flower diva who had taught them all they knew gave them their cue.

One by one, they slipped into their assigned spots in the garden and quieted themselves as they waited to feel the first light of the sun.  When its rays touched them, they were more beautiful than anyone could have imagined—so soft, so warm, so bright.

The little flowers, filled with awe, slowly straightened their petals, still holding them closely together.  And then, when the music of being rose up inside them and pressed toward the sun, they opened their little petals, and trumpeted their joy for all the world to hear as they danced, at last, in the light of earth’s sun.

The air itself is steamy; but the sky withholds its rain.  And even though our skin and the skin of the trees and the rocks in the creek bed are slicked with a thin dampness, we are parched and wilted, all of us.

We have been through seasons like this before, of course.  We know that sooner or later the rain will come.  We lock into patience mode and make the best of it, watching, with those whose crops grow brittle in the fields, for a sign of gathering clouds.

Everything has its dry spells.  Friendships, marriages, businesses, careers.  You call on whatever reserves you have to get you by and wait.

You find diversions to while away the time and let yourself study how the landscape looks when it’s dry, when its bare bones are exposed.  Sometimes you find unexpected treasures, features and strengths you hadn’t known were there.

No time is without its blessings.  The key is to accept what is, without wanting it to be different.  Then you’re free to see it with clear eyes, to mine the moment for its goodness, while you wait for the rain.

“Momma!  When can I come out and play?” the little aster called.  “All the other buds have opened.  I want to come out, too!”

The little bud was frustrated.  She felt the sun’s warmth on her outer petals and heard the oooo’s and ahhhh’s of the other buds as they opened to its light.  But here she was, still curled tight.

She wanted so much to be a full-fledged flower.  Every morning when the birds sang their dawn song, she woke expecting to find herself unfurled and free.

“You will open soon enough, my darling,” the mother said.  “Remember, time is wise and always does things in the right order.”

“But Momma, I’m tired of being a bud.  I want to know what it’s like to unfold and stretch my petals.”

“I know, dear,” crooned the mother.  “And a flower you will be.  A sweet one, full of nectar for the bees and dancing in the sun.  But right now, your job is to be a bud, the very best bud you can be.

“Do you feel that wiggling in your little petals?” she asked.

“Yes,” said the bud.  “It kind of tickles.”

“That’s a sign that you’re growing.  You’re itching to grow.  And do you feel your heart filling up with golden nectar?  You’re building up a store of treats to share with the world and to make seeds for the all tomorrows that will come.  Who you are right now is very, very important.  Pay attention to everything you feel.  Isn’t it filled with life?”

“You’re right!” the little bud giggled.  “It is!”

“And it’s just exactly the life that nature designed you to express,” said the mother.  “I know it can be difficult to wait for what comes next, but who you are right now is a miracle, my sweet one.  Be at peace, and I will tell you a story about what it’s like to be a grown up flower.  You can dream about that as you grow.  Dreaming about how you will be tomorrow is a fine way to spend time when you feel stuck with where you are.  Would you like to hear the story?”

The little bud relaxed and felt the life force moving within her and thought about being a miracle, and about being the best bud she could be.  “Yes, mother!” she whispered as she eased into the comfort of her curled petals.  “Tell me the story.”

“Once upon a time,” the mother began, “a sweet little bud was born, filled with all she needed to become a radiant wild aster . . .”