What the Sunflower Lacks in Elegance

Sometime ago I was given one of my most treasured gifts.  It was simple.  It was elegant.  What it lacked in worldly value, it more than made up for in spiritual and emotional wealth, and was poetry to my ears.  It was, in fact a poem, written by my daughter Miranda, who has a way of seeing beyond the obvious and in the lovely way of a poet, imbues the common with sublimity; adding layers of meaning to what may be dismissed as ordinary. 

In her poem, my four children become the hallmarks of a garden, each represented by a distinctive flower that graces my life with unique attributes.  All so different from one another, yet all blessing my life with beauty and grace.

I have been thinking a lot about my Sunflower lately, the fourth addition to my garden of beauties, and have felt to pay tribute to her with my latest creation of glass fusion.  It is easy to see her golden hair.  It is easy to see her big brown eyes.  But most importantly,  "What a sunflower lacks in elegance is made up in the soul, 

For only when they give all things is when they're really whole."

She has chosen to sacrifice her time and all her talents to her Savior, Jesus Christ, serving Him as a full-time missionary. Putting aside the distractions of a busy, silly, crass and crude world, she walks with God, looking for opportunities to serve His children, to teach them the Gospel of Christ and bring them into the fold of the Good Shepherd.

A sunflower keeps its face toward the sun, knowing that is from where it draws its strength.  My prayers are with Miranda every day as she has chosen to be in the world, yet not of the world, keeping her face directed toward the Source of all Light.

My Mother’s Garden

Written by M.L. Haws

For my mother.

Four little beds filled to the brim

Each bright in blazing color

Planted in their youth by a loving hand

In the Garden of My Mother

One is lush with Poppies

In a drowsy and dreamy red

Smooth to the touch, daring the eye

And stubborn in the head

The Poppy will stand vibrant

And have its way, still

But will honor those who need their rest

And serve them with a will

Next, the Birds of Paradise

That stand up straight and proud

Showing off their sprays of light

With wise heads humbly bowed

The Proficient Paradise gives promise

Of strength, beauty and charm

Standing tall in stormy weather

And finds home where it is warm

Third in line, the Orchid

Glowing in elegance

But beneath those pearly petals

Beats a heart of amethysts

The Orchid is all loveliness

With an inner glow of fun

Light and grace, vibrant joy

In its soul unite as one.

Last of all a humble patch

The Sunflowers nod away

In Morning face toward the sun

And contemplate the day

What the Sunflower lacks in elegance

Is made up in the soul

For only when they give all things

Is when they’re really whole

Four little boxes tenderly kept

By their gardener expertly

This gardener who loved them

Though they all grew differently

Four little boxes surround a tree

Growth from a seed of faith

That bears the fruit and creates the light

In which they daily bathe

And from my Mother’s tree of Life

That stands unfailingly

New vines still grow and intertwine

And blossom verdantly

In my Mother’s Garden

There still is much to grow

But come and see, the Faith and Family

Are quite enough to show.

"Words are things, and a small drop of ink"

These are a few of my favorite things!  ;-)

Yesterday I stumbled upon --( do we really stumble upon things by chance, or are they somehow put in our path directly purposed for us to discover them?.....)---ahem---Yesterday I stumbled upon a little poem by Lord Byron that I found utterly inspiring.  It perfectly illustrated what I have been thinking about recently, and I instantly fell in love with it.

Words are things, and a small drop of ink,

Falling like dew, upon a thought, produces

That which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.

                                          ~Lord Byron

Now I will admit to not thinking on as grand a scale as Byron did, but I certainly believe there is great power in the written word, OUR written word.  And I also believe that inspiration comes in many ways and should be given the attention it deserves.

I find myself with the desire to identify and cherish the inspiration I receive, as whisperings from heaven, and feel that the best way to honor these, is to write them down.  There are so many ways to learn and acquire knowledge, and we are inhibiting that endeavor if we fail to use inspiration as part of that learning.

It then becomes our responsibility to utilize these directives, and most importantly, to remember them.  The best way I have found to remember these impressions is to write them down as soon as I am able.  We all should be recording these enlightening paths of thought upon which our minds are coaxed to wander.  Perhaps our little drops of ink, falling like dew upon our thoughts, will not influence millions, nor even thousands, but they may have direct influence upon our families, upon our posterities, as our humble little journals which hold our most tender and intimate feelings are sacredly passed down to be read, and to be cherished, and perhaps to induce thought as well.

I also "stumbled"  upon a quote from Thomas Jefferson that describes the value of this inspiration that can come our way:  "The glow of one warm thought is to me worth more than money".

Are we recognizing the worth of these whisperings, which often are manifest as "warm thoughts"?  They are not happenstance; they are not accidental, coincidental, nor merely fortuitous.  We can receive directives to guide our lives, which will be of infinite worth to us if we heed them.

Your words needn't be eloquent to have power.  They needn't be flowery nor trumped up in any way.  Their simplicity and clarity will carry the message effectively.  They only need your sincerity.

May we seek to receive this guidance, and as it comes, to honor it by recording it; that we might be inspired today as we write it down, tomorrow as we look back upon our words, and in the future as it speaks to the generations that follow.
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Love is Not Love Which Alters

Oh, I still remember the thrill of young love.  I remember the fluttering in my heart.  I remember the thrill of a phone call.  I remember the sweet anticipation of just seeing him.  Walt Whitman captures that feeling so well.

                                                                     Calamus No. 43

By Walt Whitman

O YOU whom I often and silently come where you

     are, that I may be with you,

As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the

     same room with you,

Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your

     sake is playing within me.

But having been with my Valentine for 28 years, some of the newness has worn off just a little.  The fluttering is still there though, and the thrill, and the anticipation, and the electric fire.  But they now represent  the peace of knowing that he WILL call, and he WILL come home, and we WILL spend time together.  Lots of time.

What is missing is the anxiety.  And I certainly don't miss that!  The doubt is gone.  The insecurity is gone.  In its place is the certainty and reassurance of a long term commitment. 

My favorite love poem, then, is not about the thrills of new love.  It is about the serenity of knowing that love is here to stay.  Real love will weather the storms, to be found just as solid and lasting as ever.  It will turn a blind eye to faults, and the inevitable fading of youth. 

Sonnet No. 116

By William Shakespeare

Let me not to the marriage of true minds

Admit impediments.  Love is not love

Which alters when it alteration finds,

Or bends with the remover to remove:

Oh, no!  It is an ever-fixed mark,

That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

It is the star to every wandering bark,

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love is not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks

Within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,

But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,

I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Happy Valentine's Day to my eternal Valentine.  The one that is always there.  The one that overlooks the impediments.  We may not be the picture of young love; but we are definitely the picture of real love.