Wildflower Days

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,

its 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.

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