I'm having a wildflower kind of a day.
And by that I don't mean that I'm skipping merrily down a country lane,
winding a wreath of wildflowers and singing with the birds.
Rather, I feel like I am a wildflower, fighting for sure footing in an anarchy of weeds.
Choking on chaos, fighting my way to the top of my to-do list,
struggling for a deep breath of clarity, a goal beyond making it through the day.
A tangled mess needing boundaries and direction.
Of what use are days like this? The days when I seem to spin around in circles,
my mind distracted by a hundred seemingly useless chores,
my heart aching for a little peace and a quiet nook.
Feeling the need for order, for subduing and taming the minutes and hours,
wishing for a purpose, for something beyond ordinary,
yet ashamed for not treasuring this gift of a day.
And so I wind a country lane in my mind,
the hedgerows filled with wild roses fighting blackberries for sunshine,
a tangled, beautiful mess of blossoms and thorns,
bees gathering nectar,
birds nesting in the sheltered depths..
Honeysuckle claiming new territory,
climbing towering trunks to get a breath of fresh air,
it's sweet and pungent fragrance washing over me.
Foxglove standing tall and mighty above a mess of salal and ferns,
waiting for their chance to spread seeds.
Dainty wild sweet peas mingling with tough beach grass, a vision of contrast,
fragility melding with tenaciousness..
Bright-eyed daisies bringing cheer and continuity,
content to shine down low in the grass.
Each of the least of these has a purpose.
Each of these has a name.
Even if I don't bloom or grow or shine on a day like this,
I know my Father has called me by name
and has a purpose for each of my days.
Even a wildflower day.