Mindful of Hope
Mindful of Hope
My flowers grow each year, but the rabbits eat them. I spread Irish Spring soap around the flowers to discourage the rabbits; I’ve been told the scent of the soap is unpleasant to them. I also spread rabbit and deer repellent, but the rain descended heavily one evening, and a day later, 50% of the flowers were gone. I hoped they would survive this annual assault.
Honestly, I didn't spread the Irish Spring soon enough after the downpour. I was too busy and didn't think the midnight and early morning munchers would strike again! Or, maybe I’m just not cut out to be a gardener.
Every year, my flowers come back bursting with color and flair, though I am not entirely ready for them. They surprise me with their resilience, so I become complacent about protecting them. They’re beautiful in their irregularity, showcasing their attractive hues and shapes. My daylilies endure each year, plentiful and confident, flourishing together in their closeness and blooming together. They arrive to adorn my walkway annually, but then transform into dried-out, thin sticks. I prune those sticks and allow the yet-to-bloom buds to take their time to open up. Because they have consistently survived, I’ve taken them for granted. I haven't considered their potential demise or noticed they might change a bit without my awareness. As long as they look familiar in yellow and green, I’m resigned to enjoy them, if only for a brief time.
Many people are suffering silently because we assume they are strong enough to survive without our compassion.
Some flowers, like the Asiatic Lily in my garden, demand my attention because they are under threat. Even when attempts to harm them arise, the attackers only inspire them to rise again. They possess verve, grit, and fierce determination to be themselves. I admire their resilience. I think about the times I have been under threat – physically, emotionally, and spiritually.
The flowers teach us that we must not remain down longer than necessary before we begin our ascent. Otherwise, we risk feeling defeated and losing the will to survive. In our most challenging moments, we must turn to our inherent purpose, which compels us to show up for life, to show up for the benefit of others.
In Hope for the Flowers by Tina Paulus (1972), a delightful book about being who you are, two caterpillars discover that life is not competing to be the best caterpillar but rather discovering, through the willingness to transform, that they are destined to be butterflies. And as butterflies, they are members of an important ecosystem. They are important because they exist.
Our purpose is to be who we are, to show how beautiful we are, no matter our color or shape. To let go of who we were along the journey to becoming, we must sometimes go into a cocoon of darkness before we can fully realize we were always meant to be butterflies spreading pollen for the benefit of others. But we are unlikely to survive in delusion, believing that hatred, greed, cruelty, and violence will not touch us.
Our thoughts and fears of loss make us vulnerable. My flowers are partially devoured, but I hear no complaints from them. They’re tough and fierce in their determination to be what they are - partners in the evolution of the Earth. They will return next year or might have a resurgence before the summer ends.
America is nearly 250 years old. Something voracious has come during the night and devoured the beauty, the historic struggles that shaped what we have the potential to be today, and the undaunted resilience we have demonstrated despite our flaws. America’s perennial nature gives me hope that it will return, not as the flower it has tried to be, but as one with enormous potential to flourish in peace and freedom. We must pay attention to its fragility. We can’t become too busy, too distracted, or too mindless of the threats to our safety.
We must be willing to embrace who we are. We’ve seen it, felt it, and recognized it in ourselves and others. It’s right here now if we stop climbing over one another to be something we are not. When we abandon our values, we leave behind the people we love in our zeal for significance. When we demand that others change so that we can thrive, we miss the point. We must be willing to endure the inherent challenges in change to become our true selves.
The flowers know who they are. They want to live and simply be. No judgment. No need for my admiration. No promise to be around forever. They have a purpose, but they don’t expect anything from me. They don’t care what I think of them, yet they have a purpose anyway. The bees understand their partnership, welcoming them, while the birds appreciate their presence. The trees offer shade but allow sun and rain to filter through their leaves, supporting all the flowers and grasses. The ecosystem is a coordinated display of interconnection. Everything has a purpose under the sun.
I’m mindful of the commitment to hope—not just for the flowers but for the world. If we grow together through each season of our lives, we will be challenged but not consumed by the challenges of the times. We will lean into the opportunities to savor the joy of being. We are part of humanity's ecosystem. The world needs us to be willing to change for the benefit of others.
May you be safe, and may all others be safe.
May you be joyful, and may all others be joyful.
May you be healthy, and may all others be healthy.
May you live in harmony with others, and may all others live in harmony with you.
Peace and blessings,
Eleanor
