“Courage is not the towering oak that sees storms come and go; it is the fragile blossom that opens in the snow.” ~Alice M. Swaim
No matter how tempting, you can’t force a bud to open. It will flower in its time.
Timing is probably one of the least understood aspects of life. We often plan our lives, but time interferes. We rush ahead trying to save as many minutes as we can. Not enough time for this or that. Other things occur before expected. We eventually learn to flow with it and let life unfold on its own accord.
When we force ourselves ahead of life we fail to bloom as nature intends. Projects are the same way. When we push through with half-hearted efforts, we’re not giving it our best. Sometimes we need to wait to allow that “best” to develop. Talent takes time, energy, and even passion.
Other times we merely need confidence; the courage to believe in ourselves. Perhaps we feel it a tad vain to think we have what it takes to “bloom”…then again, if we don’t believe in ourselves why should others?
Like early spring flowers, some ventures bloom unexpectedly. Others need a bit more rain, sunshine, and perhaps a little boost of fertilizer. When the time is right, they will unfold and petals will emerge to create a lovely blossom.
Do you ever get that feeling the time is just not right to do something? You don’t know quite why but feel like you need to sit on it a while. That happens to me often. I find half started quilts or sewing projects in drawers or storage bins. I discover words scribbled in notebooks. I run across draft files I’ve forgotten about. The point is they come back to me when I’m ready for them. I had the instinct to know they weren’t ready at the time…I knew I still had work to do. Does this ever happen to you?
Here’s hoping all our spring buds will bloom into hardy summer blossoms!
Living in the Gap
May 25, 2012 – Importance of Life Stories
I’m working on a memoir so I call my dad to compare my memory of a specific event with his. I can’t seem to recall some names so I describe in detail the mannerisms of the people I am picturing. He knows immediately who I am referring to and tells me I remember them surprisingly well. We talk for a good half an hour about those “good old days”. The softness of his tone and the words he chooses display admiration for these people, and I sense his longing for days gone by. I can almost see him smile through the phone. My heart warms and aches at the same time. More than ever I realize the importance of recording these stories.